Parmi Les Gitans
by Sweet Valentine
Summary: /Disney/ Clopin was made of light, bright flashes of pearly teeth, flamboyant colors, bursts of song, but sometimes, she could see, there was a darkness there, one that permeated his eyes and inflicted his tongue. /Chapter 9 new/
1. Part I, Chapter 1

**This is my first ever HoND story. Although it will be mostly Clopin-centric, nearly all of our beloved characters will play significant roles.**

**Rated PG, to be safe, although this first chapter has nothing too serious. Later chapters may go up, depending on if I actually follow the planned outline I have.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Disney or Clopin or anything. But, there are original characters that are solely mine. Such as our protagonist and her family and her pets, and any other insignificant people I introduce.**

_**Parmi les Gitans**_

**Chapter 1**

There was a pall overshadowing _le manoir du Delacroix._ Gray clouds were overcast, and those inside could not escape the chill of the morning, despite their best efforts. The servants worked diligently to spread warmth to the residents of the manor, building heaping fires in the grand _cheminées_ that were stationed throughout the house. The kitchen was bustling and alive with the tang of rich broth, meant to act as another source of warmth. The handmaids made certain to bundle up each Delacroix child comfortably and securely.

Élodie sincerely wished they had not bothered. Her dress was stuffy and unbearably stiff; restricting most types of movement (including useful ones, like walking), and there were so many petticoats and frills, she felt rather like a doll _de porcelaine._ Nevertheless, she sat obediently, not daring to move as Madame Odette combed her unruly tresses of dusty blonde hair. On this particular day, her normally troubling curls seemed to cause even more distress to her governess, who pulled the comb with such ferocity Élodie was forced to bite her lip to avoid gasping aloud. Madame Odette was greatly displeased if Élodie made noise – not that she did often. In fact, Élodie was most unusually quiet for the age of seven years old. Unlike her other siblings, Élodie was a quite placid child – demure and shy. Her elder brother, Daniel, was nine, and far more rambunctious, though still perfectly proper when occasion called for it. Her younger sister, Emeline, however, could be as loud and wild as she please – the little "darling" was everyone's favorite around the house. Far prettier than Élodie, the 4-year-old seemed to charm each individual whose path she crossed. Élodie supposed it was not hard for her sister – the younger child had her mother's beautiful face: dark, luscious hair, curvy rose lips, bright cheeks, and a tinkling laugh that seem to all but enchant those within earshot. Even Daniel received his fair share of good looks; he was built slender, like his mother, with his father's handsome features.

Élodie often felt quite out of place; her sister had her father's build with her mother's coloring and complements, and her brother was just the opposite, but Élodie seemed to have only inherited a moderate amount of both her parent's features. She had long and unruly blonde curls, courtesy of her father; her face was an odd mixture, with a weak chin and mouth, diminutive nose, but large, wide gray eyes (the coloring came from her mother – sadly, they were no where near as beautiful and bright as the Madame Delacroix). Her body, oddly enough, seemed to look quite out of place – she was thin, wiry, and petite; her governess always fussed over her about malnourishment (though she consumed just as much food as the other members of the Delacroix family).

A sharp tug on her scalp came as such a surprise to Élodie that she gave aloud a small yelp, much to the chagrin of Madame Odette. "Do not fuss, now child, it is not _my_ fault that your hair is so unruly," the stern looking woman chided. Élodie sat patiently, waiting for the governess to finish the tresses. Another ten minutes of tugging finally satisfied Madame Odette, who declared that while she was no absolute beauty, the hairstyle would do.

Hastily, Élodie rose from her seat and excused herself from the room, then began to make her way down the corridor. The corridor, like the rest of the manor, was adorned with lush red carpeting and beautiful tapestries, dating back to Élodie did not know quite how long ago – her father had lavish taste, and such as it was, it was reflected in every aspect of the Delacroix life. She made her way down the stairs, holding onto the banister in the dainty way she was taught to by her governess, and upon reaching the landing, hurried to the back of the manor and made her way to the hall. The air was still with an insufferable quiet, but she took care to walk noiselessly down the passageway. Upon arriving in the entrance hall, she saw the object of her search.

"Bisou," she whispered, gently. With an abrupt motion, the dog rose and excitedly made her way over to her owner. Élodie kneeled and stroked her beloved's white-gold coat, and relished in the warm softness of it. She pulled her pet close to her chest, stroking it affectionately behind the ears. Bisou responded with a _bisou_ of her own, and Élodie giggled softly before she was alerted by footsteps nearing her position. She turned and saw her father at the front door of the manor, adorned with this heavy cloak and traveling hat. She raced over to his side as fast as she could (stuffy dress permitting), and curtsying, asked, "Where are you going, Papa?" He turned and regarded her, his black eyes flickering with impatience.

"Out to the city, for business. I'll be returning shortly-"

"May I come, Papa?" She asked breathlessly, knowing that the words should not have poured out of her mouth in such a manner – indeed, her father now wore a slight scowl at her impertinence. Realizing her offense, she averted her head towards the floor, abashed, and added politely, "Apologies, monsieur, may I please join you?" She slowly raised her gaze to meet his cold, black eyes; after regarding her for a moment, he relented, muttering something about "appeasing _le petite ennui_" motioning the handmaiden to fetch his daughter's cloak, and Élodie felt a washed with relief.

Once she was all settled in, they made their way out of the manor and into the carriage. Élodie, though seemingly composed as always, brimmed with excitement. It had been so long since she had been out about the city, and such activity was always her favorite. A stern, hard look from her father warned her to remain civil and subdued, but even his distemper could not keep her spirit down. The horses pulled the carriage down the main road, their hooves clacking softly against the pavement, and Élodie turned her head to gaze out the window. The land looked dark and shadowy – the clouds overhead had stolen the landscapes natural warmth and richness, but she was determined to not the let poor weather ruin the day for her. Though stuffy under all the layers of her dress and now with the addition of her cloak, she was nevertheless grateful for their shield against the brittle wind. The pair, accompanied by only the coach's driver, sat in silence, and Élodie felt a chill emanating from the carriage that had nothing to do with the weather. Hesitantly, she glanced over at her father, who still seemed to be annoyed with her audacity to ask him the favor of coming with. On any other matter, Élodie would have used the good sense she was born with (mixed with a seven-year-olds deep-seated fear of angering a parent) and walked away without so much as considering asking her father for anything. She always mused that he never really seemed to love her – though he tolerated her well enough. But… she took a deep breath of the crisp January air… she was going to the city. Oh, it had been too long since she had last been. She adored it, the bustling of the people, the colorful displays of goods, _la belle Dame de Notre_ and (though she had enough sense to _not_ admit it aloud) even the raucous performances given by the traveling gypsies. Of course, she would never reveal such a thought to her father, Edmond Delacroix. He made it no secret his contempt for any such rabble as gypsies.

After a short while, the carriage slowed to a stall, and Monsieur Delacroix tightened his cloak around his shoulders, and stepped haughtily out into the damp Parisian streets. Élodie followed his suit. As they weaved their way through the square, she found it to be quite dull – the current state of weather had apparently kept most Parisians indoors and out of the cold. The surrounding buildings looked even more aged and dismal than normal, and for a moment, Élodie was convinced that the trip had been nothing but a disappointment. At that moment, however, a clamor of noise burst forth from the dreary square, and both Delacroix's swiveled their heads wrong to discern what exactly the source was. There, in the center of the plaza, was a burst of color and light – a caravan, draped in the brightest hues of yellow and rich purple, and two individuals inside. The caravan stood surrounded by a throng of children; all clamoring to see the performers, who (from what she could see, though being very small) were gypsies. Excitedly, Élodie moved to step closer to the source of gaiety in the square, but a firm, hard hand stopped her in her tracks. She turned and looked up to see her father scowling at the display, disgust etched clearly in his face.

"We do not associate with such people," he growled, with a tone of finality in his voice. Élodie heeded him, and lowering her head, allowed him to lead her away from the dazzling spectacle. They instead made their way down along the street, and into view came the dreariest building Élodie had seen yet. _Le Palais de Justice._ The building towered over her, its normally ash-hue looking even more sinister with the present weather conditions. They made their way up the steps, and were greeted by guards, whom informed her father that "he was waiting for him on the fourth flight". Élodie did not know what they meant, but she obediently held her tongue and followed Monsieur Delacroix into the Palace.

The inside seemed to be even more chilled and depressing than outside. The walls were plain, simple leaded-colored brick, and unornamented. The corridors seemed to have no warmth; it reminded Élodie a bit of the dungeons Mama would tell her about in bedtime stories. They continued for what seemed like ages to her, before finally reaching a room with two large, wooden doors complete with gold doorknobs. Two guards were stationed outside the room, and one made way to open if for she and her father. Edmond strode proudly into the room, with Élodie meekly in tow.

The room was at least nicer than the rest of the building, she thought. Though still quite plain, there was a plush red rug laying on the cold floor, and several high armchairs of the same hue. At the end of the room, a large fire was roaring wildly; indeed, so that when Élodie glanced down at the hearth, the flames sputtered so violently she feared they would lash out and consume her. Warily, she took a step backward, and found herself bumping rather harshly into the wall behind her. Only, she realized it wasn't a wall when a pair of unfamiliar hands slithered onto her shoulders to balance her. With a small gasp, she jumped away from the offending "wall", and found herself gazing up at a formidable looking man. Tall and slender, she felt herself shrink back further under a penetrating gaze of harsh, beady black eyes. A rigid nose and tight, harsh lips that seemed to stretch into a stiff line offset his small shrewd eyes. The man's iron-colored hair was combed neatly into a large, impressive hat. He studied her for a moment, before saying in a deep, bass timbre, "This must be your daughter, _non,_ Edmond?"

Her father laughed harshly. "_Oui_, Monsieur, _one_ of my daughters," he stated pointedly, "the other is not so much trouble as to beg for a journey into town. She, on the other hand," he stared fixedly at Élodie, "is by far the greater wretch, though I risk bringing her along rather than face the inquiries of her mother." He laughed harshly again, and Élodie's eyes fell downcast. The other man laugh with her father, though his amusement seemed so much more musical than her father's; indeed, his voice was rich as velvet, to her father's harsh burlap.

"We must indulge our children now and again, Edmond. Dianne would say as much, at any rate," he smiled derisively and her. "Besides, she is such a pretty little thing."

Edmond barked with more laughter still. "Ha, Monsieur Frollo, you've not seen my other daughter. _She _is the beauty!" Élodie felt her cheeks go aflame at her father's insult.

The Monsieur Frollo, however, did not laugh this time. "Now Edmond, look at her. She is not stunning, _non_, but I predict she will be quite capable of maintaining a fine suitor. Look at those eyes!" He bent down to examine her face further, and it was only due to fright she did not look away. He finished with a muttered, "…Stunning," which made Élodie feel quite unsettled in the stomach, then turned to regard her father once more. "Let us take a walk, shall we, Edmond?"

The older men made their way out onto the balcony, and after a moment's hesitation, Élodie followed them. She strayed far enough behind to remain in their company, but to also avoid eavesdropping on the conversation. As they crossed the threshold of the balcony, she noted dimly that the sky was beginning to clear up; the clouds were not so violently gray as before, and the air felt warmer, more welcoming. As the two men spoke in hushed voices, she made her way over to the edge of the balcony, peering over down into the streets below. Many guards stood stationed outside surrounding the Palace, and it seemed that passersby did their best to avoid even nearing the building. Looking out into the square, she caught sight of the brilliant caravan once more, still surrounded by a mob of children, and even a few adults. Much preferring to be out there than where she was at present, she heaved a great sigh, and began to occupy herself by using her finger to flick stray pebbles out over the outcrop, concentrating fully on the patter of her finger brushing against the stone ledge. Flick; _patter. _Flick; _patter._ There was a dull roar from out within the streets, the sound of clapping and children's laughter. Flick; _patter_. Her father's voice rang out clearly. "You understand as well as I do; just look at what we're dealing with." She saw him motion violently toward the beautiful caravan. Frollo's eyes narrowed.

"For several years now, I have sought to crush the gypsy uprising; and though I've had moderate success, they seem to spawn frequently and violently." His voice was much more sinister now, and it gave Élodie shivers.

"That is why I am here, Claude," her father continued, now growing more animated. "I am a wealthy man – always have been, and now even more so with my marriage to Dianne. I shall give you the funds you need to rid us of these vermin permanently." Élodie was now frozen in place, the rest of her pebbles forgotten. "You are a proud man, Claude, as am I, but can we not agree to work together for this righteous cause?"

Frollo fell silent and brooded for a few moments. "I find your offer a most generous one."

"I knew you would." Élodie concentrated on the rocks again. Flick; _patter._ "Just imagine, a gypsy-free _Paris._" Flick; _patter._ "All the vermin gone." Flick; _patter._ "The sight of that revolting caravan ablaze." This time, Élodie's mark was so off her finger scraped painfully against the stone ledge, and she bit her lip to keep from crying aloud.

Frollo gave another deep laugh. "You are quite persuasive, Edmond, _Mon ami._ I shall accept your kind offer."

The men fell into other conversation, but Élodie's eyes remained fixed upon the caravan, watching sadly as its gypsy owners danced about merrily, completely unawares of the discussions of Monsieur's Delacroix and Frollo. She continued staring until her father, now finished and satisfied with his visit, sharply beckoned her to follow and she submissively obeyed.

They made their way back through the streets, more crowded now than before due to the improving weather. As they reached the square, Élodie was silently glad that the gypsies were still carrying on their act. She noticed her father muttering darkly to himself, and knew better than to be caught staring openly. As they continued winding in and out of the crowd, he turned to her and said plainly, "Monsieur Bonnaine is in the square today. I must speak with him for a moment."

"May I stay here in the plaza and look at the shops?" He looked at her sharply for a moment, before replying.

"You are too young to roam the square by yourself."

"_Le pardon, monsieur,_ I shall stay within your sight. I wish to see the pretty hair sashes." She pointed to a merchant selling beautiful satin ribbons. Monsieur Delacroix thought for a moment, before acquiescing and stalking off to find _l'important_ Monsieur Bonnaine.

She waited until she was sure he was completely distracted, then hurried off in the direction of the vivid caravan. The children surrounding the van were giggling, clearly enraptured with the performance. Struggling to see what was going on, she squirmed her way closer, only to find she was being sufficiently prohibited from nearing the spectacle any more. Resignedly, she worked her way around the crowd, doing her best to see from the side angle. It appeared to be… a puppet show. An old gypsy man with graying iron hair stood intensely maneuvering cloth puppets across the base of the caravan window. Élodie tried to creep closer when something made way for her face. Letting out a slight shriek and stumbling backward, she attempted to discover just what exactly had obstructed her vision, but found herself unable to balance. An arm shot forward and clamped onto hers, pulling her straight up. Glancing around, she saw a young man standing in front of her, nearly as brilliantly colored as the caravan itself. He was dressed in a deep shade of purple, head to toe. Rigidly straight black hair was crowned with a flamboyant hat complete with a feather, and she noticed a flashing of gold emanating from his ear. Élodie's eyes then traveled to the young man's face; his nose was straight and long, his chin was prominent, his smile wide and teeth immaculately white, and his eyes were wide and black, though their blackness was not the black of her father or Monsieur Frollo – they were warmer, richer, deeper.

It took a moment before she registered that someone was speaking to her – rather, she was quite sure someone was speaking to her, but the young man who held her steady, had not moved his mouth from the widespread grin plastered on his face. Instead, the voice had been coming from the cloth puppet embellished on the young man's hand.

"Oh, _excusez-moi__, Mon Chere,"_ it piped shrilly, flapping its arms wildly about. "Oh, Puppet did not mean to startle you, _Chérie_!"

"Now, Puppet, look at what you've done," the lad cut in, in a false tone of seriousness, "nearly knocking down this beautiful young woman, why, I am most ashamed." He faked sighed; throwing his head back, arm covering his forehead to convey counterfeit shame. Élodie was enraptured. His voice was clear and ringing, very pleasant to listen to. He turned to her, an expression of amusement spreading across his face. "Please, excuse him, mademoiselle, he thinks not clearly when encountered with such radiant beauty as yourself." He ended with a flourish of his hand, which had only just relinquished its grip of her arm. When his puppet followed suit, Élodie found herself giggling. The young man smiled wider at her mirth, and then turned to address his puppet. "Now, dear puppet, I think it would only be proper to formally introduce ourselves to this lovely mademoiselle, _non_?" She giggled more as the puppet began to move frantically in the air.

"_Oui, oui_, Monsieur, yes, we should!"

"Calm down," the puppeteer thwacked the cloth doll violently with a stick, and Élodie laughed more. The man turned back to her, a debonair smile running along his face, and most gallantly bowing and taking her by the hand, spectacularly, "Monsieur Clopin Trouillefou, mademoiselle." He leaned down and sweetly kissed her hand, and she felt her cheeks grow hot, giggling even more profoundly. Straightening himself, he asked, "May I have the privilege and wondrous honor of learning your name, _Chérie_?"

Quietly, she responded, and Monsieur Trouillefou's smile grew still, before exclaiming, "What a beautiful name, _non_, Puppet?" The puppet agreed vehemently, shaking its rag body wildly about, to her great amusement. Clopin's joviality seemed to expand parallel with her own, and his performance grew more ostentatious. Shy though she normally was, Élodie seemed simply incapable of containing her mirth, and laughed louder and louder. Her sudden jubilance was stifled when she felt a heavy palm come down forcefully on her shoulder, while the smile slid off Clopin's face, replaced instead with an expression of wonderment and irritation at the abrupt interruption. With the sensation of utter dread settling in the pit of her stomach, she turned slowly to face her father. His expression was livid; he had seemed to flush a deep shade of puce, and his lip was curled into the most ferocious of sneers. "The carriage is waiting," he managed to inform her through clenched teeth. She nodded quickly, turned to the gypsy-lad, who was now staring at her father indignantly, and curtsied (she could feel her father practically quivering with rage, while young man merely offered her an apologetic look); she then turned and followed the enraged form of her father, striding with her head held high, looking what she was sure much braver than she felt. She chanced a glance behind, but saw that the gypsy had already turned his attention to entertaining other children whose parents seemed less offended by his lifestyle.

When the arrived at their carriage, her father turned back to her, still quite furious, and waited for her to climb aboard; once settled, he sat across her and stared down, his eyes burning angrily into her own. She was sure he was going to yell at her, and she shut her eyes tightly and braced herself for the wrath. Instead, his words came out clipped and cold: "What were you doing?"

She raised her head to him, hesitating slightly, before answering, "I didn't mean to-"

"You know how I feel about their kind. You are aware of the purpose of my meeting today with Judge Claude Frollo, _are you not?_" Unable to answer for lack of breath, she nodded. He continued. "You realize that your association with such company is a stain on my reputation, on that of our family's, _non_?" His speech grew more ferocious with every word. Again, she nodded, completely silent. Her father's anger seemed to penetrate the entire carriage; indeed, she felt stifled and choked on its thickness. He sat back in his seat, and rested his arms in his lap, gently pressing the tips of his fingers together in. "You shall go straight to bed when we arrive home. No supper." Nod. "And no more trips to the city, until you gain some sense!" It was a just and fair punishment, she supposed, for her disobedience. Apparently satisfied with the exchange, her father turned his head away from her and stared out the carriage window. The rest of the journey, though extremely short, was absolutely silent. She could not understand it, however. Though she was just a little girl, Mademoiselle Delacroix could not see what was so bad about gypsies - for the puppet master had been ever so kind to her.

When they arrived at the manse, she heeded her father's orders and walked straight up to her bedroom, ignoring the curious gazes from her younger siblings and her mother's beckoning call. Once in the room, with a slight sob she flung herself onto her bed, not bothering about the crumpling of her petticoats or the mussing of her hair. Burrowing herself underneath the large quilted covers, she shut her eyes (now burning with the threat of impending tears) forcefully, replaying the circumstances of the day. After a while, there was a soft knocking at the door, but she made no sound; the knocker seemed to take her silence as an acquiescence to enter, and in came her mother.

At the sight of the large, curious shining eyes of her mother, Élodie buried herself deeper into the sheets of her bed, averting her eyes from her mother's concerned gaze. Her mother sat on the edge of her bed, and leaned over to stroke her daughter's tangled tresses. "Oh, _Mon Chere_, whatever is it that troubles you?" Her mother's voice was silk and fine, and Élodie felt soothed instantly. With an unsteady sigh, she raised her face, now stained with tears to look up at her mother. The older woman gave a beautiful smile and continued to run her fingers through Élodie's hair, tickling the scalp and calming the child. "Tell your mama what it is, love."

And in a hushed tone, as if afraid her father would burst through the fine wood doors at any moment, Élodie told her mother exactly what had happened during the day – the visit to the Palace of Justice, about the uneasy feeling Monsieur Frollo gave her, her father's conversation with the "scary man" (her mother's lips twitched at this, but she motioned for the girl to continue), the magical ornamented caravan, and the handsome young gypsy-man, who smiled brightly, laughed loudly, and danced around with his puppets.

"He was kind to me, Mama," she explained, more animatedly now. "Very kind. And his puppet was so lovely! Oh, it danced around and thought me pretty!" Her mother chuckled sweetly at the display of exuberance. Élodie 's voice then fell into a softer tone, "I do not understand why Papa can hate something so nice."

Madame Delacroix gave a very sad smile. "You will find that often, people loathe what they do not understand." At the look of confusion on her daughter's face, her mother continued more simply, "Their way of life is different from ours. Many of them resort to thievery to survive, and oftentimes, many do not like the loud way they perform out in the streets."

"But they are not all bad!" Élodie interrupted. "The boy was so nice to me. How can all of them be hated by people like Papa and Monsieur Frollo if not all of them are bad?"

Her mother paused, before answering simply and a bit remorsefully, "I don't know, my sweet child. Some people just are that way."

"It isn't fair," Élodie remarked sullenly.

"_Oui,_ you are right, little darling. But such is life." And with a kiss on the forehead, her mother departed from the room, leaving Élodie alone with her thoughts, muddled in confusion and despair. She glanced out her window. The sun was not visible due to the obstructing clouds, but she could see that night was approaching quickly; the outside world seemed to blacken rapidly, and with a heavy heart, she curled underneath the warmth of her comforters once more. A few moments passed before she clamped her eyes shut, trying to block out the unfortunate events of the day.

"_The sight of that revolting caravan ablaze."_

Her father's cruel voice echoed in her mind, and with another soft sob, she fell into a restless sleep; one filled with visions and nightmares of Paris and children and Bisou and caravans, and a handsome, smiling gypsy-boy all engulfed by flames.

**AN: Nine pages comprised of 4,500 words is the longest first chapter I've ever written. Well, longest chapter, really, but that's neither here nor there. Anyway, please read and review, give constructive criticism, whatever you wish: I swear I don't bite (hard – er… what? I didn't say that…). Don't worry, this will get much more Clopin-centric in future chapters – however, I want to take the time to establish my original characters as actual people and not Mary Sues (again, I didn't say that…). Be patient, we shall see more from our tight-clad gypsy in the very near future. ******

**Again, feel free to review… proof read, or whatever. I'm planning on uploading this to but wanted some feedback first, so, hit me with your best shot (sung in a quite affectionate and grateful tone)!**


	2. Part I, Chapter 2

**Firstly, thank you to those who have already read this (HatefulShinobi especially, though you need to stop guessing the future plot keys : ) ). Encouragement means a lot, since it mostly helps spurs me on to further writing! It's greatly appreciated! Just going to point a few things out here:**

_**1) Names are ALWAYS significant! **_**Movie characters notwithstanding (because I did not name them), everyone's name has a special meaning. I spent about 3 hours looking up French names for all of the characters that will appear in this story [some I'm still futzing with, but take note of those I've already named… they are significant, for many reasons (Élodie's is especially ambiguous, I love it!).**

**2) That goes for last names, too.**

**3) I didn't mention that this takes place approximately 13 years before HoND… at least, the first chapter/section/part (that's not a spoiler at all…) does. I'll get around to mentioning some form of timeline eventually. Also, this is looking to be a bit on the long side… well, let's just see how these next chapters come out, 'kay?**

**4) HatefulShinobi stated to me that Edmond was an ass. My response – thank you! I'm relieved you noticed. Because that is **_**important!**_

**5) Clopin's a sweetie! That's important too. It **_**is**__**also important**_**, however, that people understand my Clopin **_**will not be perfect**_**. He has a marvelous vicious streak (as we witness in the Court of Miracles scene in the movie… that is significant). But, overall, my Clopin is definitely a good guy… maybe. (Dun-dun-daaa!)**

**6) Keep reviewing! Er – please: )**

**Chapter Two**

Her father's anger did not subside the next morning. No, indeed, it seemed a night of mulling about seemed to only stew Edmond's wrath, and he subsequently unleashed his rage on anyone within is path. In turn, this made the Delacroix household a very unhappy one – Edmond was angry with everyone, and everyone else was quite irritated with Élodie for being the source of her father's contempt. It did not even come as a surprise to her when her father declared forcefully over breakfast that she was banned from ever entering the city again (though, her mother had ensured her in secret, that would not be the case – most likely, the punishment would last only a few months…that proved to be little comfort to the girl).

Instead, Élodie spent the day locked up in her room, gazing wistfully out the window as Daniel and Emeline danced gaily about the courtyard, relishing in the sudden bout of sunshine and fresh air. Glumly she sat, without even her beloved Bisou to keep her company – her father had loudly prohibited the dog from entering her room to provide her comfort and entertainment. Such decree caused Élodie to spring into tears, thick droplets falling from her heavy lashes (her father pointedly ignored the sound of her sobbing). Madame Odette's loud chastising that "she got what she deserved" did little to pacify the troubled girl.

So there she stayed, locked in her room with not a single activity to occupy her (all her dolls, books, and stencils had been removed on orders of her father, despite her mother's pleas to leave the already wretched child alone). She sat alone, sitting on her bed, watching the clouds creep along in the sky overhead, in thick, frothy puffs. To pass away the time (which seemed to move at a crawl today), she spent her time discerning different shapes and patters that the clouds transfigured into. Eventually, the clouds drifted away, leaving nothing but a pale blue expanse for Élodie to gaze at. With a heavy, disappointed sigh, she flung herself backward onto her large four-poster bed, and tried to shut her eyes. While her father could take away her toys and privileges, he could not take away her imagination. In her mind, she attempted to conjure an image to the likeness of the city – on a bright, clear day such as this it would be bustling with activity. The baker would be putting out croissants and baguettes fresh from the oven while the merchants would have their shops open wide for business.

And best of all would be the gypsy caravan, in its entire multi-colored splendor, surrounded by a mass of delighted children. And standing there would be the smiling gypsy boy (Monsieur Trouillefou, was that what he had said?), dancing around with his wonderful puppet, making the little girls laugh. The thought seemed to unsteady Élodie more than comfort her. How long would it be until she could see that cart again? She choked back more tears.

Monsieur Delacroix's vexation seemed to grow steadily worse as the day wore on, so much so that he had even banned Élodie from joining the family for supper (though her mother chastised heavily that the poor girl had not made so much as a peep the entire day – he ignored her just as he had his daughter). Edmond went so far as to allow one of the handmaids to only serve Élodie a slice of bread and cheese; evidently, his wrath was not above starving his own child. Resignedly, she at her "supper", and then having grown so weary of the horrible day, crawled into bed and went to sleep early that night.

Her slumber was far from peaceful, however. The dreams that had haunted her the night before tormented her once again, and as she slept she saw orange plumes of fire dancing about the streets, wrecking everything in sight. She awoke in the middle of the night softly screaming, and the noise alerted Mélanie, who came up and offered the younger girl warm milk to settle her down. Uneasily, Élodie drifted back into a heavy slumber.

She woke up at dawn the next day and found had great difficulty settling back into sleep - she instead made her way to the window to observe the transformation of the sky, as lovely pastel pinks and oranges swept across the sky, announcing the coming arrive of the sun. Fortunately for Élodie, her mother had convinced Monsieur Delacroix that Élodie _must_ be allowed to venture outside today – it was Sunday, and every Sunday the family went to mass at the Notre Dame Cathedral. Edmond had relented, grudgingly, because as he said "he was a good Christian". With tepid delight, Élodie dressed for mass in a beautiful blue satin dress, hair pulled up into lovely curls courtesy of Madame Odette. Before she left the house, however, her father pulled her over forcefully by the arm and threatened her menacingly that if she so much as even _looked_ at the gypsy caravan, she would feel punishment like no other. She nodded fiercely, and made her way to the carriage.

Élodie could not understand why on beautiful day such as this, her family did not simply walk to the square; their manor was such a short distance away it would not have taken much time at all. But her father's rationale was that a renowned and well-respected family such as themselves should always arrive by the finest means – and it was not a point Élodie felt like challenging him on. Therefore, their carriage would take them about 5 minutes way down the road, where they would then climb out and walk through the plaza – it was nearly always to crowded and cramped for any carriages except maybe that of Monsieur Frollo – their carriage, however, was much too large. As they walked through the square, she could feel her father's eyes boring into the back of her skull, watching her carefully as they passed the gypsy caravan. There they were again, two men, one old and other young, entertaining the children about the street. Their performance seemed much more low-key than usual, and she saw why in an instant: the guards, apparently annoyed that the gypsies had decided to perform on the Sabbath, kept drawing nearer, menacingly (it was something the gypsies had clearly noticed as well). She could hear her father muttering about "desecrating a holy day", and began to walk faster.

A few minutes more and they reached their destination. Climbing the stone steps leading to the magnificent Cathedral, Élodie could not help but admire the elegantly carved statues surrounding the structure. And the inside was no less impressive; aligned with candles and smelling sweetly of incense, the halls looked purely majestic. The rays of sunlight that streamed through the delicately stained glass windows only enhanced this vision.

Mass itself seemed to last longer than usual, but when it was finally over with, she rose and followed her family out of the pews docilely. Her mother was particularly fond of the habit of staying after a while to admire the beautiful statues, occasionally kneeling and praying at the foot of one; and as usual, her father went to consort with other churchgoers of high standing, leaving the Delacroix children under the watch of Madame Odette and a younger servant girl, Mélanie. The two women ushered the children outside, where Élodie saw to her great dismay a large commotion. Apparently, the guards had lost all patience for the gypsy performers, and now were pointing their swords at the men threateningly. One soldier stepped forward, and in a loud booming voice, declared, "A night in jail ought to teach these scoundrels a lesson about performing on holy days!"

The gypsies seemed nonplussed. Instead, giving one another a knowing look, the elder man stepped forward and said, "Now, now, monsieurs, that will hardly be necessary. For you see," he looked pointedly again at the younger man, "we were just… Leaving!"

A flash and poof of thick purple smoke burst forth through the air, and in a second, both gypsies were gone, leaving in their wake a squad of very confused and angry soldiers.

"What is going on here?" A deep timbre growled most harshly. Turning, at the head of the stairs she saw standing Judge Frollo, flanked on the right by her own father. He surveyed the scene with disdain, before addressing his lieutenant. "Well!" He snarled impatiently. "Answer me!" The soldier did his best to explain the situation, and a dark shadow crept across Frollo's face at the conclusion of it. Her father, too, looked particularly sour at the news of events.

"Search the square! Every inch, they may very well still be around! What are you imbeciles waiting for?" Frollo commanded expertly. The guards did not hesitate for a second before heading off. Frollo and her father slowly descended the stairs. At the base, however, Frollo stopped still in his tracks; his eyes had apparently been drawn to something in the middle of the plaza. Élodie followed his gaze and saw lying there in the pavement, was a small puppet. Her stomach lurched. As discreetly as she could, she descended the stairs after her father and mother, who had also been curious as to what fascinated Frollo so. As she neared, she saw the puppet was different than the one she had seen Clopin display; it was a puppet of a girl, from what she could tell. It had long hair, at least. Frollo clutched the cloth doll in his hand.

"Impertinent gypsies have left behind a little gift, I see. Well, I'm sure they won't mind me disposing of it for them." He made a movement to tear the pretty puppet in two, and before she could think about what she was doing, Élodie burst forth with a "NO!"

It seemed as if all eyes in the area had instantly fixed on her. Frollo eyed her with a look of disdain and morbid curiosity; her mother held for her a look of worry, and her father seemed to be teetering on the edge of delivering her a healthy slap on the cheek. Thinking as quickly as she could, she sputter, "_Pardon_, monsieur, that i-is n-no gypsy doll. I-it is my own," she finished breathlessly. Frollo's eyes narrowed skeptically, and her father looked even more enraged.

Her mother, however, surprised her. "Ah, yes, Monsieur Frollo, I see now. I sewed that doll for dear Élodie just a few days ago. Her birthday is nearing, and I wanted to see if she liked the design. You know young girls, once she saw it, she simply could not renounce it." Frollo stared, intrigued, but Monsieur Delacroix looked completely dumbfounded. "I imagine that little Élodie brought the doll with her today in one of her petticoats – it must have fallen out on the walk over here. Is that right, Élodie ?" Her mother turned to her and gave her a careful look, and Élodie obediently nodded. "Well, then, monsieur, it is settled." She held out her palm expectantly, and still slightly bewildered, Frollo relinquished his grasp on the doll. Her mother then transported it to Élodie, who tucked it tightly to her chest. Satisfied with the exchange, Madame Delacroix most elegantly swept her hair back and beckoned for her family to hurry along to the carriage. They all followed, just as bewildered with the turn of events as Frollo. Her mother hung in the back of the party, and Élodie slowed her amble to join her, reaching out and squeezing her hand appreciatively. Her mother returned the gesture.

Élodie glanced down at the little figure clutched tightly in her palms. It was a very pretty puppet – it had golden curls atop its head, its face was painted delicately with red lips and large, black eyes, and was dressed in a lovely blue satin cloth. She wriggled her hand inside the puppet and attempted to mimic the behavior of Clopin's puppet. She giggled as she maneuvered the little hands about, watching most fascinated. A slight pressure one her shoulder, courtesy of her mother, warned her to quit her amusement, and she went back to simply holding the doll gingerly in her hands.

Up ahead on the path, Élodie noticed a man hunched in a thick cloak, squatting along the wall. Looking terribly downtrodden and poor, her father and the rest of her family passed the stranger with nothing but looks of disdain. As she neared the man, however, she saw a familiar glint of gold dangling about his ear, and swore that the tunic underneath his cloak was a vivid purple…

Slowing her stride even more, as casually as she could she teetered off to the side of the path, near where the stranger was sitting, and inconspicuously dropped the puppet into the man's lap. He raised his head slightly, careful to keep his face hidden, and she offered him a small the bright smile before skipping ahead to catch up to her family. Her mother, who had heeded the event, nodded her approval.

As Élodie boarded the carriage, she made sure to sit near the window, and cast a glance out at the street behind her. The cloaked figure was gone, and content, she sat back and tried to enjoy (as best she could) the trip home.

The rest of the day passed uneasily; her father was angry now with both her _and_ her mother for "daring to embarrass him in front of the general public like that." Her mother had told her consolingly that he at least could not discern just how rebellious they truly were – Élodie took great comfort in that. Still, it did not help that her father's temper once again pervaded the dining table, and supper was another uncomfortable occasion for all parties involved.

As she readied herself for bed later that night (after finally successfully removing all the layers of her dress…with diligent help from Mélanie) she found her mind wandering, mulling over the events of the day. She took great satisfaction in her small victory over Frollo and her father, though it was a silent celebration – her mother counseled her to _never_ mention the event or the puppet again. She stole one glance out the window – was that a figure in the shadows over there, or was she simply weary? – before crawling into bed and falling into an easy sleep, dreaming about the beautiful stained glass windows of Notre Dame, dancing puppets, and wonderful flashing puffs of rich purple smoke.

When she awoke the next morning, she felt much pleasanter than she had felt for the past two days. Madame Odette entered briskly and began picking out the day's attire – a green dress today ("It brings out your complexion so nicely") with a matching green hair sash to braid in her hair. Complacently, she sat at her looking glass while the older woman laced up her dress and began tending to her hair.

Today, she was granted the pleasure of having Bisou sit in her room with her as Madame Odette made her look presentable for the day. According to the elder woman, Élodie's and her mother's impertinence were driving him weary, and he simply hadn't the strength to bother prohibiting every little pleasure one could grant his daughter. Élodie smiled, relieved, and bent down to stroke her beloved pet ("Sit up, child!" came the squawk at such action). After Madame was finished, Élodie did not make her way immediately down to dinner. Instead, she kneeled down on the floor and stroked Bisou affectionately, laughing as the dog returned the favor by showering her with wet kisses. Now thoroughly sopping, she stood and grabbed a cloth from the linens cabinet and patted her face dry, then ambled toward her window to gaze out at the sunny day. Standing on her tiptoes, she unhooked the latch and threw the window open, relishing the cool breeze that swept across her face. Something else, though, much more _solid_, also whipped against her, and alarmed she opened her eyes. There, tied to the outside handle of her window, was a... a ribbon? Cautiously, she leaned out and untied it, and stepping back inside, she examined the strange artifact.

In her palms, she held a gloriously vivid purple hair sash. Attached to the ribbon, she saw a small crumpled paper, pinned on with what looked like a sewing needle. Gingerly, she pulled the paper off the sash, and opened what appeared to be a note. In an elegant scrawl, Élodie read with enthrallment simple words:

"_Thank You."_

**AN: This is a good sign – I am updating so quickly (and with a lot of content)! It means that I haven't yet lost my inspiration for this story – let's hope it stays that way!**

**Once again, please feel free to review and edit if you see any mistakes! I know this chapter was seriously lacking in Clopin, but fear not, for next chapter, I assure you, you will get A LOT of him: ) I know this chapter was a lot shorter than last (about 1500 words shorter, at least), but I didn't want to squeeze too much info into this chapter, because the next chapter is even more vital, it would have simply been overwhelming to have added the two. Please, though, continue reading and thanks so much! **


	3. Part I, Chapter 3

**Hello, my faithful reader(s). New chapter, here. Are you ready for it???**

**First, some notes:**

**I don't think I said it before, and I apologize, but **_**Parmi Les Gitans**_** is French for **_**Among the Gypsies**_**. At least, it means that according to freetranslation dot com. **

**There is much more to come, especially from Clopin! Join me in saying: YES!**

**Enjoy, mis amigos.**

**Chapter Three**

The next day when Élodie rose, she headed to her wardrobe quickly and began sifting through her outfits. Well, not exactly _sifting_… more like fumbling. With fervor, she pulled at each dress, examining it for a few brief seconds, before sighing and moving on to the next dress. She had examined her wardrobe thoroughly three times through already when Madame Odette bustled in. "What in heaven are you doing, child?" She looked amused. Élodie looked at her governess over her shoulder, eyes wide, and hand still clutching a taffeta sapphire dress. The Madame scuttled over to the child, and chuckled, "What are you looking for, _chérie? _

She rounded on the elder woman with wide, gray eyes. "I do not have a purple dress, Madame."

"A…a purple dress?" Madame Odette looked puzzled. "Wha-what do you need a purple dress for, _mon petit chérie?_" She asked, laughing slightly. Élodie did not answer – instead, she simply walked over to the bureau and fisted the purple sash in her hands, showing it Madame Odette. Clucking, Madame took the ribbon from her hand, and examined it. "Ah, _oui,_ mademoiselle, you wish to find a dress that matches." She chuckled softly again. "I must ask, _mon petit_, where did you get this?" Élodie looked as though she had never considered having to explain the appearance of the ribbon, and lowered her head quickly, not answering. Madame Odette, however, feeling unusually agreeable this day, continued as if she had not noticed the display. "Oh, but of course!" She gushed a bit too effusively. "Your mother must have given it to you, _non?_" She smiled kindly at the child. Élodie nodded quickly to go along with the story.

"_Oui_ Madame, but I have a _un petit problème… _I have no purple dresses." The girl frowned, and Madame Odette chortled more at the innocent pout.

"Ah, mademoiselle, ladies do not necessarily match their ribbons with their dress… why don't we coordinate?" She strode to the wardrobe and pulled out a charming pale yellow dress (that reminded Élodie, oddly enough, of the gypsy caravan). "Here, child, this will do. Purple and yellow complement one another quite nicely." She dressed the girl, and stepping back to admire her work, remarked, "You look darling, my dear."

Feeling particularly regal in her attire, Élodie daintily made her way down to the dining hall, where the other members of the family had already gathered for breakfast. Her father, she noticed, was absent.

"_Maman_, where is Father?" She inquired.

"Oh, dear, he has already left for the square."

"So soon?"

Her mother smiled, and Élodie was sure that she saw sympathy in her features. "Judge Frollo wanted him to arrive early, on account of today being the Festival of Fools. " Élodie felt as though a jolt had run down her spine. The Festival of Fools? How had she forgotten? She opened her mouth to speak, but her mother had already started. "You are not permitted to go, Élodie. Your father says you are still being punished." She attempted to protest, but her mother remained firm. "I will not disobey your father's wishes. You will stay here today, with the handmaids to look after you, and the rest of us shall attend the festival." Looking at the face Élodie was making, her mother continued, _"Je suis désolé, la fille."_

Élodie finished her breakfast in silence, listening sullenly as Daniel and Emeline exclaimed their excitement about attending the Feast of Fools. Her mother seemed genuinely sorry about denying Élodie the trip, but made no further comment on the subject. A short hour later, the three of them, accompanied by Madame Odette and Mélanie (who would be needed to keep extra eyes on the children among the raucous crowd). Élodie retired gloomily to her room, Bisou trailing dutifully at her heels.

Once in her room, she made her way over to her bookcase, pulling out from the shelf a large, leather-bound book, and examined it. It was a book of fairytales. Settling herself on her bed, she began to skip through the pages where she came across the story of _Cinderella_. She began to read, but as the words flickered along the page, she pictured in her mind the image of the gypsy boy, reciting the story with puppets and pomp. The thought thoroughly depressed her, and with a heave she slammed the book shut, tossing it aside. A low whimper alerted her that she had most likely hit Bisou on the nose, but instead of feeling sympathy for her beloved creature, she felt unjustly cross. "_Vous obtenez hors,_ Bisou. Go, get out!" The dog looked at her pathetically with large, wide eyes, but she grabbed the pet by the collar and dragged her to the door.

"Some one, put this dog out! Now!" Élodie's shouts came as a great startle to several servants, who had never seen the girl with such a temper. They did, however, obey, and satisfied, Élodie returned to her room, feeling a pang of guilt for taking her anger out on her only source of company. Miserably, she fell back onto the bed, and began to sob softly. As tears wracked her body, she became tired, and her eyelids began to feel heavy…

Élodie hardly knew what was going on… she was being forcefully shaken from her slumber. Sleepily, she glanced around. The sun seemed to be setting; out of the corner of her eye she could see the faint orange glow of the sunset. Hands were grasping at her again. Completely taken aback, she rose alarmed only to gaze into the concerned face of her elder brother. "What is going on?" She exclaimed, and all the boy managed to do point out her window. She gasped.

The city was on fire.

She blinked hard. It… it wasn't real. It wasn't happening… was it? She scrambled over to the window. Sure enough, orange flames danced along the buildings; a thick plume of ashen smoke coated the horizon. Her brother joined her by the window, and they both simply stared for a full minute. Suddenly, a third figure burst into the room. Madame Odette, panic stricken and panting, hurried over to them, visibly fretting. "What's going on?" Élodie repeated, turning her attention to the governess.

"Come along. Get dressed, get ready, we have to be ready to leave." Was the ordered reply.

"Where are we going?" She queried again, full of fear now. "What has happened?"

Her mother next entered the room, little Emeline in her arms. "Come along children, we must prepare." Her voice, though much more controlled than that of Madame Odette's, was still brimming with an anxiousness that made Élodie's stomach plummet.

"What is going on, _Maman?_" She asked once more.

Her mother turned to her sternly, before beckoning her other children to her. She sank lower on to the bed, still clutching Emeline to her chest, before turning to Élodie. "Today, at the festival, there was… well, there was an _incident_." She explained in a very light fashion, as if attempting to mask her alarm. "I don't exactly know what happened, but the guards became a bit agitated, I guess you could say, and, they… well…" Her mother struggled with the words, but Daniel, excitedly and emphatically, broke in.

"They set fire to the puppet caravan!"

Élodie gasped, horrified. "_Bouffons stupides,_" Madame Odette's voice rang out. "Of all days to try and unsettle the gypsies, they pick the one day all of them are out and about…" A warning look from Madame Delacroix sent Odette trailing off. Her mother continued.

"Yes. Well, as you can imagine, chérie, the gypsies were very upset about that. It got far out of hand, and fighting broke out, and, well…" She gestured toward the window.

"But why must we leave?" Élodie asked, eyes wide.

"We may not have to… we just want to be prepared" Her mother explained. At the confused expression on her daughter's face, she elucidated. "Because, it is not safe here, child. Your father… he was sitting with Monsieur Frollo today. The gypsies do not like Judge Frollo, and I am afraid they are not very much endeared towards your father, either. You must understand, children, we shall only leave if the flames are so bad that they threaten us, or if the gypsies come this way." She added, comfortingly, "Not that I believe that shall happen. But it is best to be prepared. Now, everyone grab a warm coat, and we shall wait together in the parlor." And with that, she scooped up little Emeline, who was tiredly and innocently unaware of everything that was going on, and swept out of the door. The others followed her suit.

But when they reached the parlor, a horrible realization occurred to Élodie. "Bisou!" She exclaimed. She had ordered the poor creature _outside_. How terribly frightened the poor thing must be. Without a second thought, the girl quickly turned around (ignoring Madame Odette's shrieks and her mother's protests) and raced down to find her cherished pet. Throwing the doors open, she ran to Bisou, who had been tethered along a post with a flimsy rope. The dog was thrashing wildly, clearly terrified by the thundering noise of the rabble and the crackling of the impending fire. The little girl did her best to pacify the animal. "_Oh, je suis désolé." _She cooed, but her words had little effect. The frantic movements of the dog had worn its tether thin, and the line broke – away ran Bisou.

Élodie did not hesitate for a moment. She tore down the street after Bisou – into the chaos, into the thick smog, only half-realizing she had on no shoes and no coat… her feet pattered uncomfortably against the rocky pavement, but she hardly heeded the discomfort; Bisou was gone, out into the mob and fire, and she would be heartbroken if the last memory she had of her pet was that of this morning, yelling at the dear creature to "get out".

Bisou, however, was too fast for her; the dog was out of sight within moments, but she kept running, in the direction of the dog, yelling at the top of her lungs (though, failing to realize amid the chaos, hardly anyone could hear). And soon there were people – guards, gypsies, all running about, seeming drifting right over her head. Soldier and gypsy alike charged at one another, wielding fine broadswords or makeshift rods, hollering loud insults and jeers towards the other. Here, the smoke was thicker, and Élodie began to feel choked. Bisou was nowhere in sight, and she realized for the first time how cold it was outside (despite the raging blazes surrounding the premises). She turned to make her way home – she could grab her things, then, and her brother could aid her in the search for Bisou – only to find that she had no idea which direction home _was_. There were masses of people surrounding her; fighting all around, loud shouts, flames, and smoke. Panicking, she swiveled her head madly, looking for something, anything, which would give her an idea of where she was. But she was far too small, and all the men far too big, and she could see nothing.

To her left, she saw two men grappling with one another; they suddenly flew off-kilter and made a beeline straight for her. Screaming, she ran the other direction, only to catch her foot on something (a person?) lying on the ground. Her knee collided painfully with the stony street, and she cried out in pain. She attempted to get up, but the sensation was too great, and her head swam from the overload of actions around her.

"_Bon Dieu!"_ A voice rang out from behind her, but as she was clutching still clutching her knee, she was unable to turn around. Suddenly, a pair of firm, wiry arms wrapped their way around her, and she froze, paralyzed with fear. "Come along, little one," the voice said, slightly panicked, as the arms scooped her up, one supporting her knees, the other strong against her back, and carried her along. Frightened, she looked up at her savior (or kidnapper – she could not be sure which). The figure was a person – a man – but his face was masked, and the darkness just low enough she could not make out who he was. The man carried her along, slipping unnoticed into an alleyway that had not yet been razed by the flames.

Setting her down gingerly atop a pile of wooden box-crates, he pulled off his mask and wiped the perspiration away from his forehead with his sleeve. Élodie was audibly relieved to see his revealed face – it was Clopin. Wrapping her arms around him, she squeezed tightly, listening to his gasp of surprise and eventual chuckle at the warm reception. She pulled back, and he addressed her. "It seems, Mademoiselle – Élodie, is it not? –" (She nodded), "… that you and I seem fated to be better acquainted." He smiled slightly. "Though, personally, I would prefer meeting under much more agreeable circumstances," he continued, sardonically. His expression grew serious. "_Mon Chere,_ I must know firstly, if you are alright." She pointed to her knee. Gently lifting the skirt of her dress slightly, he examined the area, which was now inflamed and turning a brilliant shade of purple. "Ah, an excellent bruise, worthy of a soldier, if you ask me." She giggled a little, though she was still in pain. "Now, _chérie_, I seem to have misplaced my beloved puppet, who I know would have given it a kiss to make it better. I suppose this will have to do," he bent down swiftly and placed his lips lightly to the swollen skin. She giggled more, and he smiled, satisfied with her reaction. "Now, Élodie," he continued, expression stern once again, "I _must_ ask you: what in Paris are you doing out here on the streets, especially right now?" He seemed slightly annoyed, but deeply concerned as well.

She did her best to explain, starting with. "_Mon chien_, Bisou…" She told Clopin about being banned from attending the festival, and her bad mood being the reason for forcing her pet outside, and described (voice trembling with the threat of tears now) how horrible she felt for it, but she could not leave the dog outside, "…because Bisou was terrified and barking and she escaped from her tether and ran away and I tried to follow her, but there were so many people and the fires and smoke are much bigger than I Monsieur and I could not find her, and I do not know my way back home and feared I was lost until I found you," (He patted her comfortingly on the shoulder), "but I do not know what to do, because my dog is gone and I am so far away from my house." She ended with a heavy sob, and Clopin's arms wrapped around her in an effort to comfort the little seven-year-old.

He murmured comfortingly in her ear, trying to soothe her wails, and after a few moments she settled down, though still hiccupping slightly. He smoothed her hair down, patting her head reassuringly, when a voice called out through the thick smog. "Clopin!?"

He turned down the alley and saw a figure silhouetted against the bright glow of the firestorms. The outline ran over swiftly, gave Élodie a quizzical once-over, before addressing Clopin. "There you are." He paused a moment to catch his breath, before continuing, "What now?" He sounded half-exasperated, half-afraid. Clopin scowled.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered darkly, his features sliding into a small scowl. His companion gave him a sheepish, apologetic look. Élodie looked at Clopin, puzzled. He understood her confusion and said, "… er, some soldiers lit the caravan on fire. Naturally, us gypsies were incensed," he looked awfully bitter, "but to attack… especially today. And to be one of the causes… of all this." He motioned towards the blazes with his hand, shaking his head. "This will not do anything to help gain our favor with the general public." He scowled again. He turned sharply to the newcomer. "My father _will not _be pleased." He said ominously. The other man seemed to quiver at the thought, but Élodie was simply confused.

"Your father?" she asked.

"The King of the Gypsies." Clopin commented off-handedly. She gaped, and he laughed. "Not a real king, mind you. More of a leader… he's in charge of all of us, really." She still was quite impressed. Shaking his head, as though he was making to shake the thought out of his mind, he spoke to Élodie kindly. "We should get you home now. It isn't safe out here."

"My _maman_ says it is not so safe there either." He looked at her alarmed. "She says that because father is friends with Judge Frollo, we might not be safe."

"Your father is Monsieur Delacroix," he stated softly, and she nodded. She opened her mouth to ask Clopin just how exactly he had known whom her father was, but he cut her off. "Both Monsieurs Frollo and Delacroix are well known to the gypsy world." He said sourly. "But never mind that – if you are with me, you shall be safe."

He then directed a pointed glance at the other man, who, as if completely understanding the unspoken communication, departed back down the alley. "Now, _chérie_, I shall take you home, _oui_?" She nodded, and he scooped her up gingerly, but securely. "We shall go the long way 'round. To avoid trouble." She nodded once more, and off he set, bounding down the alleyway opposite the direction of his companion.

Clopin masterfully wove his way in and out of the alleys and streets, his knowledge of the city clearly exceptional. As they continued the journey, he casually remarked, "I see you are wearing your ribbon."

She looked up at his face, slightly surprised. "You gave it to me." She stated simply, and he chuckled.

"A thank-you present, if you will. You did save one of my puppets." He smiled down at her. "It suits you. The ribbon," he clarified. "A pretty sash for such a pretty girl."

"I am not the pretty girl of my family," she remarked absently, thinking on her father's conversation with Frollo just a few days ago. "My sister is the real beauty."

"What makes you think that?" Clopin frowned.

"My father says so. That's what he told Monsieur Frollo the other day." Clopin's frown grew.

"Your father must be both crazy and blind." She gasped, but he continued, his voice sounding hushed and more thoughtful. "Remember that there are many kinds of beauty in the world, Élodie. The world is separated into beautiful people and ugly people, but what makes them so is _never_ determined by what they look like. Things like kindness and fairness are so often forgotten… But they are the difference between what makes a monster, and what makes a man." He explained. She remained silent, pondering his words.

"How old is your sister?" He asked lightly, abruptly changing the subject.

"Four, monsieur."

"Call me Clopin," he bristled at the title. "I am only a boy of fifteen. Not so old and stuffy as Frollo." Élodie laughed.

"_Mes excuses_, Clopin." She amended.

"Now," turning is attention back to his original query. "Four, you say? Hardly a basis for comparison… And you are?"

"I am turning eight at the end of the month."

"Are you now?" He exclaimed excitedly. "Well, mademoiselle, what shall you want for your birthday?"

"Nothing!" She started. "You do not need to get me anything!"

"Now, Élodie, don't be ridiculous. I must get you _something_. After all you have done for me now, you expect me not to?."

"What have I done for you?" She asked in wonderment.

"You have shown me and my people the kindness so rarely displayed among _your_ people." He left it at that, and though she was still confused, she thought she understood a little better.

"What shall I get for you?"

"Hmm?" He looked down, clearly not understanding.

"For your birthday. I must get you a present in return, it is only proper." He shook his head, laughing.

"Oh, mademoiselle, no. Firstly, my birthday has already passed. December thirty-first," he added before she could ask. "And you have already given me my present: When you returned to me my beloved doll. Not to mention, you've granted me the privilege of carrying the most beautiful 'almost-eight'-year-old mademoiselle in all of France home. Something like that does wonders for my self-importance." Élodie laughed once more, surprised at how easily the man elicited the sound from her. "Well, we have arrived." Startled, she swiveled her head.

Sure enough, they stood in front of the Delacroix manor, at the base of the stone steps leading up to the magnificent door. "How did you know…"

"I followed you, yesterday after you gave me the puppet back. Followed your carriage all the way back. I saw you peer out the window before the light to your room went out… did you see _me?_"

"That was you?"

He chortled. "_Oui,_ _chérie_… I had to find out which room you were in _somehow_. How else would I have given you the ribbon?" It made perfect sense, she reasoned.

"Well, now that you are here, are you well enough to be put down? I do not think it would be wise if your family saw me –"

The opening of the front door cut him off. She could feel his muscles tense, and Élodie herself felt paralyzed with fear and anticipation.

Out came her mother, racing towards them, hair disheveled, worry etched into every line of her face. She scooped Élodie out of Clopin's arms and kissed her fervidly. "Oh, _mon Chere_, I was so worried! Oh, my darling!" She kissed her again. Madame Delacroix then turned to Clopin, who had been attempting to creep away as silently as possible. She marched forward towards him, and he braced himself; but to Élodie's great shock (and apparently, Clopin's too), her mother kissed him swiftly on the head. "Thank you, young man, for keeping her safe." He nodded, still dazed at her reaction.

Madame Delacroix turned back to the manor. "You had better leave now. It is best if my husband or anyone else does not know that you have been here."

He nodded profoundly, and after whispering a goodbye to Élodie, quickly scattered back down the street, now much more at ease than before.

Her mother turned deftly turned around, not ever relinquishing her hold on Élodie, and made her way back up to the manor. Upon crossing the threshold, there was a great din; Élodie distinctly heard the voice of Madame Odette, shrieking at the sight, and the other servants began to work, offering Madame Delacroix a cup of warm soup, to escort her to her bedroom, some food, something to drink. Her mother ignored them all, and marched straight up to Élodie's room. For a brief moment, she feared that she would receive a harsh punishment; she was therefore surprised when her mother flung the covers of the four-poster bed back, and wormed both herself and Élodie underneath them. Feeling safe and warm, she curled up against her mother's body as her _maman_ stroked her hair and clutched her daughter tightly to her breast. Élodie drifted off to sleep, complacent in her mother's arms.

**Whoo, this was laborious to put out. But, I've managed to do it. So, we get more Clopin interaction (hopefully you all noticed something important about that), and hopefully all you Clopin-lovers are appeased. Don't worry, no romance between Clopin and Élodie here… she is, after all, seven years old… but they do have a nice friendship blossoming, **_**non?**_

**Anyway, you know the drill. Please read, AND REVIEW! I'll never know what you guys think unless you tell me. So, even if you think it's horrible and I should change everything, **_**let me know**_**. Because that's the only way I'll be able to improve, right?**

**Thank you: )**


	4. Part I, Chapter 4

Sorry about the delay – I was out of town for a week, and then took some time organizing my timeline to get this all organized

**Sorry about the delay – I was out of town for a week, and then took some time organizing my timeline to get this all orderly. It's been frustrating – I have my plans and the meat of my plot just waiting to unfold, but I **_**need**_** to punch out these chapters to get there. Ah well – the writing is fun, so I'll do it.**

**Few notes:**

**GypsyKingClopin: Thank you so much for the absolutely amazing review. I was so touched – it really brightened up my day. There will definitely be more sinister!Clopin, but for now he's going to be nicer (after all, Élodie idolizes him – he cannot be too imperfect… yet). And I'm so glad you like Élodie, because it's always difficult crafting OC's that are believable, likeable, and not Mary Sues. So, thank you once again!**

**HatefulShinobi: I'm so glad you liked it! I needed to throw that quotation in there – after all, it **_**is**_** canon Clopin. I mean, there is a reason he understands that profound knowledge… but that will come later in the story!**

**To others, who may not have reviewed, but added my story to their alerts and/or favorites list, all I can say is this: THANK YOU! You will not be disappointed. I'm so honored at your loyalty (I guess you could call it that). **

**Oh, and another thing. You **_**may**_** have been wondering (or may not have), why I assigned Clopin's birthday as December 31****st****. Honestly… because I wanted to – originally. Then, I did more research, and according to what I've found, Capricorns: they are practical and prudent (I'd say so – as HatefulShinobi so cleverly pointed out, Clopin **_**does**_** do what's best for his people, even if it means going as far as hanging Quasi and good ol' Pheebs), they are ambitious, yet disciplined (I'd say from what we have to go on, Clopin has to be pretty special and forceful to be the leader of the gypsies), patient and careful (this one I dunno about… I could always works something in, though), and humorous with a good personality (yes). Other characteristics of Capricorns: pessimistic and fatalistic ("Court of Miracles", anyone? – this I feel is an absolute yes), miserly and grudging (er, repeat chorus of "Court of Miracles"). One source went so far as to even say, and I quote, "they have a tendency to fall into mood swings, being friendly one day, and horribly mean the next" (…perfect!). I have to say that I actually did a pretty good job pegging Clopin.**

**Élodie, incidentally, is an Aquarius (this is also by complete coincidence): friendly and outgoing, a humanitarian (I'd say so), lively and honest and loyal (we've seen most thus far), independent and inventive, and likes to be different… all I can say about this is **_**weird**_**. I've had Élodie's character sketch done for a while now, but only just decided to make her an Aquarius (her birthday will be January 31****st****). I dunno, that was really cool to me. One website says this (it's creepy how similar it is to Élodie – I swear that was unintentional). **_**"**__**Aquarius children tend to be shy and laid back. A sharp contrast to their adult counterparts. The enjoy being alone sometimes to an extreme degree, they tend to be withdrawn and isolated. They are full of affection, with a loving and kind disposition. They are usually obedient to loved ones, and will give in for the sake of peace and harmony. Aquarius, being an intellectual sign, means these children have active minds. They can be persistent and quite helpful at times when they are needed the most.**_

_**The most negative thing about the Aquarius child is probably their tendency to worry. It is advised to keep them away from worrisome adults, as these people will cause them to worry more, and might set a bad example."**_

**It gave me chills. I mean, Élodie was written out and pegged as a character long before I wrote this, yet this seems to fit perfectly.**

**Maybe I'll do birthdays for everyone else, too.**

**Now, after the world's longest pre-chapter author's note, onto chapter four!!**

Élodie awoke warm and safe, clutched in her mother's embrace. She felt an idle hand gently tugging at her curls, smoothing them down, relishing in the softness of the hair. So her mother was awake, Élodie realized absently, burrowing deeper for more warmth. Her mother must have noticed the sudden shift, and her soft whisper carried about the room. "Élodie."

"_Maman,_" she responded quietly, unsure and suddenly fearful of what her mother might say. Madame Delacroix sighed deeply, inhaling the scent of Élodie's hair (which she realized smelled like, in addition to the normal soaps and perfumes, smoke and fire). Her mother twirled a dark-gold curl, examining the texture between two slender fingers.

"You were horribly foolish, Élodie," her mother continued softly. "I was terrified." She abruptly pulled away from her daughter, and pulling Élodie's chin upward, stared into her face. "Don't ever run away like that again. You could have been killed." Her mother's face had gone horribly pale; whiter, in fact, than the bed sheets their bodies were currently curled up in. The young girl hung her head in shame. Her mother breathed deeply to compose herself, before continuing, "Why were you so foolish," her voice was choked with emotions of anger and worry, "to run out into the street?"

Élodie gave a start, remembering why exactly it was she tore outside in the first place. "Bisou," she gave a low whimper, and proceeded to tell her mother of how the dog ran away, was lost amongst the raging mob and fire. Her mother once again smoothed her daughter's hair. "I see," she responded quietly. "Did you find her?"

"No!" Élodie burst into tears. Her mother pulled her tighter to her chest, gently dragging her fingers across her daughter's back in a calming, soothing motion. Élodie sobbed hard, her head pounding and heart aching for the loss of her friend. After a few moments of her mother's "shushing", she calmed, hiccupping slightly.

Madame Delacroix gave her a few moments to compose herself, before asking, "What happened then?"

Élodie hesitated, biting her lip, before delving into everything she could recall – being lost in the crowd, falling and hurting her knee (which still smarted today, but she shook that thought from her mind), finding Clopin. Her mother listened intently, nodding her head and motioning for Élodie to continue her story. "He saved me, _Maman_. He told me that the fire wasn't supposed to happen, that it was an accident. He seemed sad." Her mother smiled knowingly. "He made my knee feel better," Élodie continued, showing her mother the tender skin, which had now developed a slightly yellow-tinge that complemented the purple bruise.

"How did he do that?" Her mother commented, lightly examining the wound.

"He kissed it, to make it feel better." Élodie said plainly, and her mother laughed at the childish simplicity of the statement. A thought suddenly occurred to Élodie. "He told me that his father was the King of the Gypsies."

Madame Delacroix's eyes widened at that information. "Did he now?" She remarked, curiously. She processed the information for a few moments before saying, "Élodie, I need you to understand something." Having grabbed her daughter's attention, Dianne continued. "You father must _never_ learn about what happened last night. If he asks about Bisou, I will simply tell him the poor creature got away."

"But, won't someone else tell him I left?"

The thought concerned her mother, but she waved her hand at the idea.

"You ran after the dog at first, but came back when you could not find her. That is all that will be said about the subject. If your father ever happened to learn the truth…"

Élodie shuddered at the idea.

"Now," her mother went on, "let's get up and see where your brother and sister is. Those poor dears were scared half to death when you ran out." Feeling a pang of guilt, Élodie followed her mother's advice, and the two of them exited the room, hand in hand. It was only then Élodie realized just how disheveled her mother was – her hair, which was usually pulled back pristinely and regally was tousled most uncharacteristically; her dress was rumpled inelegantly, and looking at her mother's face, she saw that it looked significantly older, with worried lines etched along her mouth and dark circles beneath her eyes. Élodie felt even more shame for being the cause of her mother's distress and unkemptness.

They made their way to the nursery, where Emeline resided. Upon arrival, they saw that the remaining Delacroix children rested there with their governess; Emeline in her bed, Madame Odette snoring lightly in a rocking chair sitting next to the bed, and Daniel curled up at Odette's feet, dozing lightly. As if sensing their presence, Odette awoke with a start, and loudly made her way for Élodie, clutching at the girl wildly, crying madly. The clamor startled the other children, who upon waking eagerly headed toward their sister to pull her into an embrace. Élodie felt overwhelmed, feeling her mother now joining the large embrace; the group of them huddled together, clinging on desperately.

As they disentangled themselves, Odette asked Madame Delacroix, "Has Monsieur returned yet?"

Dianne shook her head in response. "I do not know, Odette. I imagine we will be alerted when he arrives." She made her way to the window, examining the outside. "It looks as if the fires have settled somewhat. I think it is safe to say we will not need to leave. That being the case let us make our way downstairs and have breakfast." Her proposal was met with zealous agreement, and the party started downstairs. Élodie, before following the group, made to look outside. Her mother was correct – the fires of the previous night had indeed settled, but the city looked ragged, clearly bearing the marks of yesterday's chaos. A thick plume of hazy gray smoke had settled over the structures of Paris, suffocating the landscape. Smoldering embers of once-refined buildings still glowered, and some even were still aflame; Élodie could make out the silhouettes of small figures, working fervidly throwing buckets of water at the flames. Debris was scattered about the stoned pavement; pieces of houses, wood, stone, peppering the streets. Élodie thought, with a shudder, that she could discern shapes of _bodies_ among the wreckage. A small pressure on her shoulder made her jump, and turning she saw her mother beckoning her to join her siblings, to leave the images of destruction behind her and make her way downstairs. Élodie complied.

Breakfast was uneventful, if not more subdued than normal (a feat which absolutely astounded Élodie, for her family was not known for its jovial nature). Edmond finally returned home, spewing profanities and cursing the gypsies for the events of yesterday. In a fit, he made his way past his family and proceeded to lock himself up in his study for the remainder of the day, citing that he needed "peace and quiet". Dianne did her best to ease her husband, but every attempt was met with cruel and harsh protests. Paler and distinctly haggard from the effort, Madame Delacroix finally conceded. The other residents of the Delacroix manor made no exertions to try and appease Edmond after that.

The remainder of the week passed relatively quietly; her father remained isolated and grumpy, her mother prone to headaches and a cough (which the servants chalked up to the chilled, gloomy weather and stress), and the children thoroughly bored and depressed. As Sunday rolled around, the Delacroix family was rounded up into their carriage and off to church. To Élodie's extreme disappointment (though not surprise), the ruins of the gypsy caravan remained in the middle of the square – it seemed that Clopin and his father had not yet chanced a return to the streets since the Festival. The Mass was the same as always, and the family headed back home in the same spirits, though Madame Delacroix's head cold seemed to be worsening steadily. She retired to her bed immediately once they arrived home, and did not come out for the rest of the day.

Indeed, it seemed that her condition did nothing but deteriorate throughout the week. She was soon racked with a fever and chills, throbbing headaches, and disorientation. Alarmed by his wife's state of health, Edmond called for the finest doctor in Paris, who advised that she simply needed rest and relaxation, while also offering a draught to be taken with every meal. But Dianne's condition seemed to not improve in the slightest. Rather, she lost all appetite and color in her face, and more physicians were brought in to cure her. It was to no avail. Élodie's mother was fading rapidly and before her family's eyes. In a matter of two weeks, Dianne was so ill her children were not even permitted to see her. To take their minds off of their mother's condition, Edmond ordered Odette to take them out to the city, away from the house (he had apparently forgotten his decree prohibiting Élodie from doing such a thing – she was careful to not point out this lapse in memory).

The city proved, at least, some comfort to Élodie. Once they arrived, she saw a sight that greatly warmed her spirits: the gypsy caravan was being restored. Clopin and his father, as well as several other men, were clearing out the rubble that once was the old puppet van, and a mule was pulling a brand new van into sight. Waiting until she was sure Daniel had run off to examine the shops and that Madame Odette was preoccupied with Emeline, she hastily walked over to wear the gypsies were assembled. As she approached, several took heed of her, looking curious and wary; Clopin, however, gave her a big smile and greeted her. "Now, now, gentlemen, behold, Mademoiselle Élodie, our _petite sauveur_, our little savior, defender of gypsies and puppets alike!" She giggled at his effusive introduction. "No need to worry, _mes amis_, she is practically one of us!" He beamed down at her.

"Ah, so this is the little girl you have been so praiseworthy of, Clopin," a voice remarked from behind the young gypsy, and Élodie saw that Clopin's father was the speaker. The man resembled his son greatly, with the same long nose and chin and deep warm eyes. "Cyrano Trouillefou, mademoiselle," he bowed deeply.

Élodie's eyes widened. "You're the King," she whispered, awe-struck. The gypsies laughed. Fearing she had said something foolish, she turned to Clopin, but his mirth was not malicious.

"_Oui_, I am King," Cyrano replied kindly, before adding, "don't go spreading it around though. Last thing I need is for Frollo to come after me." He winked, and she nodded adamantly. Clopin approached her then, leaning down to wrap a lean arm around her shoulders. Suddenly, puppet appeared.

"Now, mademoiselle, what do you say we go for a walk while our _comarades_ finish up here." It's voice pealed excitedly. His father snorted.

"Always trying to get out of work, Clopin." He shook his head. "What a disgraceful son." Clopin and puppet scoffed.

"Come along, _Mon Chere_," he steered her away into the bustling of the square.

They walked a few paces before Élodie asked, "He was not serious, was he?"

"Hmm?" Clopin was confused.

"When he called you a disgrace," she tried to expound. Clopin laughed.

"Oh, of course not, _Chérie_, it was only jest." ("Was not," puppet interjected, only to be thwacked forcefully with a stick, Élodie giggling all the while). Clopin then frowned a little. "Why on earth would you think he was serious?"

"My father would be, if he said something like that." She said solemnly. Clopin scowled, but did not comment further, asking instead, "He's not here, is he?"

"No," she explained. "We are here because he wants us children out of the house."

"What for?" Clopin inquired, attempting to brush some lint off of puppet, though it seemed to be putting up a brilliant fight.

"Because of _Maman_. She's very sick." Élodie's sprits dampened at the thought. Clopin noticed.

"Is she?" He commented tenderly, and Élodie nodded, careful to look away so as to not reveal the sudden mistiness of her eyes. "I'm sorry to hear that, mademoiselle. I am quite fond of your mother." ("Me too!") She could hear the sincerity in his (and his puppet's) voice. "Well," he continued, his tone considerably more cheerful, "I am sure she will recover." She could tell he was only trying to cheer her mood, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless. "Now, let us move on to an incredibly important topic of discussion." He suddenly became extremely serious, and Élodie leaned in, curiously. "You've not told me what you want for your birthday. It is next Sunday, _non?_" ("It is?" came a squeal, which Clopin hushed). She "hmphed", lips twitching slightly at Clopin's antics.

"I told you already, I don't want –"

"Yes, I know, I know, but I do not care." He remarked, flippantly. She crossed her arms. He ignored her.

"I've already given you a ribbon, so that is out of the question. Oh, do you like jewelry, mademoiselle, I could steal some for you." At her admonishing glare, he raised his hands defensively and declared, "Just jesting, _chérie_, just a jest!" His eyes suddenly lit up, and a sly grin spread across his features. "It matters not, as I have just thought of the perfect gift!" He exclaimed.

Élodie's curiosity got the better of her. "What?" She asked, interested. He smiled wickedly in response.

"Oh-ho, no, no, mademoiselle, I shan't tell you, it will be a secret!" He turned to puppet, and leaning down, mimicked whispering something in its ear. The puppet squeaked excitedly, flapping its arms about and dancing wildly. She pouted, and Clopin laughed, putting out his hand to ruffle her hair. He shot a glance back at his fellow gypsies, and commented off-handedly, "They seem to be making progress." ("No thanks to you." The puppet received another playful smack.) Élodie turned to look back at the caravan – indeed, the rubble was now mostly cleared out, and the new caravan was rolled into place, covered in the same brilliant cloths as before. "How lucky we were today, that there are so few guards here now in the middle of the week," Clopin commented conversationally, and Élodie noticed for the first time the lack of soldiers in the plaza.

"What will happen if the guards see you?"

Clopin shrugged. "I can't say. We haven't encountered any since… well, _you know_," he said pointedly. "My father ordered us to stay away for a while." He snorted irritably, and puppet mirrored his actions. "Two weeks is long enough for any gypsy to stay cooped up, under–" he stopped himself short, as if realizing the revealing any more information was inadvisable. Abruptly, he changed the topic, asking, "Who accompanied you today?"

Suddenly panicked, Élodie swiveled her head around, looking about the square, but her alarm was eased when she saw Madame Odette gathered about a merchant's stand, preoccupied as ever. She sighed in relief, and continued to scan the area. In a matter of seconds, she laid her eyes upon Daniel, who was now busying himself at the blacksmith's Shoppe. Relieved that she would not be caught in her most egregious rendezvous, she turned her attention back to Clopin, who seemed to observe her momentary panic with great amusement. "I shouldn't be seen with you," she told him, plainly. He laughed.

"As long as your father isn't around, I really don't think we have anything to worry about," he scoffed, skipping ahead of her. "Besides, you're my excuse to get out of hard labor," he added laughingly. She grudgingly giggled along with him, but their mirth was cut short by a sharp "Élodie" ringing out in the street.

Daniel made his way over towards them, and a sensation of dread crept down and settled itself into her stomach. Clopin, on the other hand, seemed entirely composed, observing the intruder shrewdly, brow furrowed and hat slightly tipped, casting a shadow over his features. Her brother approached them and after glancing back and forth to each of them, pronounced, "He's a gypsy," and cast a wary glance at Clopin. The older boy seemed to do his best to _not_ react, though his puppet seemed to take great offense.

"He's my friend," Élodie interjected, and motioning toward Clopin. "Clopin, this is Daniel Delacroix." Turning to Daniel, she continued, "Daniel, Monsieur Clopin Trouillefou. And his puppet," she added, as an afterthought (the cloth doll greatly approved). The two boys studied one another for a few moments, before Daniel, to all parties' complete shock, extended his hand in greeting. Clopin hesitantly took, and after grasping it for a brief second, both let go quickly. Abruptly, Clopin offered puppet's hand as well, and thoroughly bewildered, Daniel took it (Élodie laughed to herself at the sight). Composing himself, Daniel looked at Élodie, who was regarding him with pleading eyes. Acquiescing with a sigh, he announced, "Our secret," and Élodie smiled, relieved.

"Perhaps you should get going, Élodie," Clopin suggested softly, eying Madame Odette, who now seemed to be searching around the square for her missing charges. Giving Clopin a curtsy goodbye (puppet gave her a forceful kiss on the cheek in return), Élodie took Daniel's hand and made their way back to a rather flustered Madame Odette, who admonished them for wandering so far away.

Élodie was considerably glad, to say the least, to find that when she arrived home her mother was feeling somewhat better. "May we see her?" She asked her father, tentatively, who was spared from answering when the physician behind him said he saw to harm in the gesture.

"We've been bleeding her every hour, so she is feeling much better." He explained kindly, and Élodie and Daniel raced to her quarters, Madame Odette carrying Emeline in tow. It appeared the old doctor knew what he was talking about; their mother seemed to be in a much-improved state. Her children clamored up onto the large four-poster bed, settling themselves down into the thick down-sheets. Madame Delacroix was greatly pleased to see them, her face brightening instantly. Despite this change in mood, Élodie was still a bit worried. Her mother was thin – much more so than ever, her face white and gaunt, almost skeletal. Deep shadows were etched into the skin below her mother's eyes, and the once-full rosy lips were cracked and dry.

"I fell very well, dears, do not fear," Dianne commented lightly, reading the expression of Élodie's face perfectly. "Just a slight cold." She laughed, trying to cheer the children. Only Emeline, who was a mere four-years-old, could not understand the exaggeration of their mother's statement. Daniel and Élodie were concerned as ever, watching their mother abruptly seize her chest and cough violently. Madame Odette took the sudden fit quite seriously, instantly ushering out Emeline. Her attempts to uproot the other children were unsuccessful, however; both of the elder Delacroix's clung to the bed sheets, begging for a few minutes more. At her mistress' request, Odette consented, remarking "five minutes!" and bustling out of the room.

At last, in much safer company, Élodie burst forth with the day's events, telling her mother eagerly about seeing Clopin and meeting his father "the King", and telling her about the new caravan. Daniel looked scandalized, as if shocked that she would dare talk about keeping company with gypsies (he looked even more so when she dragged his name into the ordeal), but upon seeing his mother's rather interested expression, calmed down.

"Sounds like you've had quite the day, _Mon Chere_," Dianne remarked, weakly.

"Clopin says he likes you… his puppet too," Élodie said, trying to sound casual but gauging her mother's expression. She laughed.

"Did he now?" She chuckled softly, breathing in heavily (and from the looks of it, somewhat painfully). "I think it is time for you to leave now, my dears." She told them quietly, holding her chest. Scared, but obedient, her children bid her goodbye, kissing her cheek and departing from the room.

Élodie was only allowed to see her mother sparsely; multiple physicians were still tending to her, giving her draughts and bleeding her every few hours. Madame Odette took them into the city a few times during the ordeal, but Élodie never caught sight of Clopin or Cyrano – it seemed that nearing the end of the week, more guards were scattered about the square. Élodie was forced to bite her lip to prevent herself from giggling when she overheard one loudly exclaim, "Where did that caravan come from? Didn't we destroy it?" Thankfully though, none of the guards seemed to mind too much that the caravan had returned; indeed, it seemed they had far better things to deal with. Élodie witnessed one day a rather large group of guards, instructing what appeared to be a group of boys, no older than Clopin. Daniel watched adoringly at the training session, but Élodie was completely nonplussed (for more guards meant less gypsies), and turned away. She had to admit, though, they were not all bad. One had even been most kind to her – while marching down the street, she had tripped on a loose cobblestone, nearly colliding with the ground; a strong arm had caught her just in time. Looking up at her savior, she saw it was a young soldier, with bright-gold hair, broad features, and a warm smile. "Careful there," he warned her pleasantly. A loud "Phoebus!" in the background alerted the lad's attention, and with a rigid bow, he left her, feeling flushed and grateful.

With the absence of Clopin and his puppet, trips to the plaza were now dull for Élodie, and with the illness of her mother, she felt very alone. Daniel did his best to comfort her (and she tried to return the favor), but a pall of gloominess had settled itself thickly above them. As the week progressed, she tried to look on the bright side – it was Saturday, which meant that tomorrow was the 31st… her birthday. With these glad thoughts in her mind, she skipped about the house, though it was as bleak as ever. She made her way to her mother's room, where she received the approval from Monsieur Blanc, an elderly physician with feathery white hair and a pleasant disposition, to enter the room.

Her mother was looking as ragged and careworn, hair unkempt and splayed across the pillows in wild, unruly tangles. Élodie pulled herself onto the bed, and snuggling near her mother ("not too close now, dear") reached for the tendrils that were scattered along the bed, taking one into her small fingers and twirling it about her finger, relishing in the softness of its texture.

"How is my soon-to-be eight-year-old?" Her mother asked in a half-whisper, sounding rather drowsy. Élodie made a noncommittal sound, completely absorbed in playing with her mother's hair. "Élodie," her mother's voice was sharper now, and Élodie looked up in wonderment. "I have something to give you," her voice was back to normal now, but her eyes seemed alive and anxious, and Élodie nodded for her mother to continue. Dianne pointed to the bureau next to the bed. "It is in the first drawer," she motioned for Élodie to go.

Opening the drawer, Élodie saw at the bottom there was a smooth, red satin cloth. Receiving her mother's permission, she bent down to retrieve the cloth, feeling some indiscernible object resting within the folds. "Open it," her mother said in a hushed, but excited voice. Following her mother's request, Élodie gingerly pulled the cloth open, fold by fold, until the edges fell away and revealed to Élodie a beautiful shining object. Gasping, she pulled it closer to her face. It was a comb, just smaller than her hand, inlaid with a beautiful pearled sheen, curving into the pattern of flower petals and a slender bloom. The comb shimmered, the pearl lustrously shining against the dark-stained wood into which it was inlaid. "It was your grandmother's. She passed it on to me, and now I pass it on to you." Dianne took the comb and pulling back the hair on the left side of Élodie's face, threaded its teeth through the curls, before coming to a rest right above her ear. The object felt odd and foreign in her hair, but Élodie resisted the temptation to touch it lest she ruin her mother's handiwork.

Feeling overwhelmed, Élodie threw her arms around her mother's midsection, fervently whispering "_Merci, Maman_, _merci_," and nestling close to her mother's chest. Her mother patted her back gently, placing a soft kiss to the crown of Élodie's head.

"I wanted to give it to you now, before it's too late," her mother murmured softly, more to herself than to her daughter. Élodie did not hear her mother, already feeling drowsy and the sudden burst of warmth that radiated from being so closely entwined with her mother. Her lids felt heavy, and she did her best to suppress a large yawn, but as her mother's hand slid across her back, tracing patterns with her fingers, Élodie felt herself drift away, off to sleep, only faintly registering her mother's words of "Sleep well, _Chérie_," before succumbing to slumber completely.

With Élodie clutched tightly in her arms, pressed firmly against her chest, Dianne Delacroix died that night.

**AN: Interesting note – in the 15****th**** century, they believed in "bleeding" (or blood-letting). Doctors thought that by cutting a person who was ill and bleeding them, they would bleed the infection or illness out of the body. Now, we know today that isn't the case… but it should also be known that when you cut yourself, you release endorphins to the brain, which induces euphoria… so you feel happier. So, essentially, while doctors thought bleeding helped patients (they would seem to be in better spirits, because of the whole endorphins thing), it actually did not. I think that's how it all goes anyway. Correct me if I'm wrong. **

**So, I hate this chapter. One, because I have to kill off one my favorite characters (not for dramatic purposes either, it just hast to be done…. You'll find out why later), but also because in my outline and brain, I know exactly what's coming up in the next chapter (and I've been dying to write it)… but I had to write something that could physically get us there. So, this chapter has been difficult, because I needed to add just enough information in it to progress the story. Plus, I wrote it, edited it, rewrote it, completely changed some things and then added others, and killed off Dianne (I'm going to be mad at myself about that for a while, I fear…).**

**Fun fact: I was listening to Anne Walsh's version of **_**Baby Mine**_** from Dumbo while writing the Élodie/Dianne interactions. Really put me in the mood, I guess.**

**That is all for now. I'll get around to updating later this week, I'm sure. Thank you all, once again, for your wonderful support, and enjoy!**


	5. Part I, Chapter 5

She had never worn this dress before

**New chapter. There was a few days delay, but things happened. Firstly, my grandpa died, so this chapter really kinda hits home in terms of the emotional aftermath of the death of a family member. Secondly, I've been busy with work and things like that. But, I wanted to make a few notes before I began:**

**BookLover786 – thank you so much for reviewing! I'm glad you like it!**

**HatefulShinobi – gosh, you're so supportive! Thank you so much for all the reviewing, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**GypsyKingClopin – wow! Just wow! All of you reviewers make me feel so happy and proud of my work! Thanks!**

**Disclaimer (I've forgotten to add this in previous chapters): I don't own Hunchback or anything, but other characters are solely mine and can only be used with my permission! Thanks!**

**Chapter 5**

She had never worn this dress before. Puffy and thick, with all the usual petticoats bolstering it, the black dress looked foreign and out of place on her lithe body. She felt as if she were absolutely drowning in the black silk. But she sat obediently, not making a sound, as Mélanie laced the back of the dress (much more gently than Madame Odette's normal ministrations).

"How's that, _Chérie?_" Mélanie asked kindly, but Élodie gave no reply. Indeed, she seemed to be a thing lifeless; her eyes bore into the looking glass, as if dead and hollow.

Mélanie could not blame her. The poor child had awoken this morning to find her mother dead beneath her. The young woman shivered slightly, recalling the horrible screams Élodie gave when Madame Delacroix did not wake. The entire household had raced to Dianne's quarters, only to find Élodie clutching her dead mother's body, tears streaming down her face. It had been up to her and Madame Odette to pacify the child, while Edmond had immediately begun the funeral preparations, sending servants to go out and alert the church and cemetery.

Shaking the morning's events from her head, Mélanie began tugging gently at Élodie's hair, careful to not muss any of the curls. "How shall we do your hair? A ribbon perhaps?" She reached for the wooden box that held Élodie's hair accessories, but with a sudden thought, Élodie jerked her head violently, wincing as Mélanie's fingers yanked away forcefully. "What is it, child?" Mélanie asked alarmed. Élodie did not give her an answer, instead scurrying over to her night bureau. Opening the first drawer, she reached for the red cloth that contained her new hair comb. Carefully, she unfolded the cloth, and handed the comb to Mélanie. The older girl inspected it, and then understanding, she proceeded to insert it into Élodie's hair in the same fashion Dianne had the night before.

"There," Mélanie gave a small satisfied smile. Élodie examined herself in the looking glass briefly, before nodding and following Mélanie outside.

Her family received her with bleary, stony features. Emeline was not quite old enough to understand exactly what was going on; she did, however, understand that something very bad had happened to _Maman_, and her behavior reflected that knowledge; her face was red with tears and nose stuffy from crying. Daniel, too, was crying, though silently, for he was doing his best not to; his head was held high and firm, and his jaw clenched against the rivulets that spilled down his face.

Edmond was not crying, but his face was stony and rigid. The thought occurred to Élodie that she had never seen her father cry. Nor, would it seem she was likely to.

The entire manor had lined up outside for the procession. The family's carriage was first; the children, Edmond, Odette, and Mélanie crowded into it. Directly behind them was a second carriage; this one was the carrier of the coffin. After that were various other coaches carrying the rest of the household, all coming to pay their respects to their kind mistress.

As the procession went forth, Élodie scooted close to the window, to gaze at the landscape passing by them. The sun was out and shining brightly, and the earth had developed a lush, rich green tone. She thought bitterly that if her mother was to have a funeral, it should be dismal and gloomy outside; not the kind of perfect weather that invited happiness and content.

As their carriage passed through the village to the city, many people stopped to stare; some bowed their heads in respect, few simply gazed for a moment or two before getting back to their lives. Once they reached the square, they were met with a more accommodating reception; upon seeing the funeral procession, merchants and shop owners went to clear their goods, and make way for the carriages to pass through unhindered. Many more people stared now; Élodie realized absently that it was Sunday. Naturally, more people crowded the square because of Sunday Mass at Notre Dame. In the middle of the square, Élodie saw something that made her at least somewhat less depressed: Clopin and Cyrano were in their caravan, performing for a small crowd of restless children. It was Cyrano who first noticed the onslaught of incoming carriages. He stopped in the middle of his performance, and leaned over to whisper something in Clopin's ear; the boy looked up, and understanding, began to put the puppets away. The halting of the carriage informed Élodie that they had arrived at their destination, and one-by-one, they exited the coach. As she made her way to the steps of Notre Dame, she saw out of the corner of her eye the caravan once more. It seemed that the two men were now working to pull a black pall over the more flamboyant cloths that usually adorned their performance wagon, as a gesture of respect. She watched them with interest, until Clopin swiveled his head (perhaps to get a better view of the procession); his eye caught hers, and she could tell he was quite shocked to see her, dressed in black, at the steps of Notre Dame, a coffin being unloaded from the carriage behind her.

Her father's voice startled her, and she turned away before seeing the rest of Clopin's reaction. Edmond was waiting for her at the entrance, staring expectantly. Quietly, she made her way toward him and followed him inside.

She had never been to a funeral before. It was quite unlike anything she had expected; everything looked completely normal. The halls of Notre Dame were adorned with the usual candles; the statues were all the same, the windows too. The only difference, really, was the crowd of black-clad people, all coming to bid Madame Delacroix _adieu_ from the world. Several priests raised their hands and prayed over her mother's body, and Élodie noticed there was much crying around her. She herself had not cried since initially waking to find her mother cold beneath her – she found that she simply could not shed any more tears. She did, however, watch the proceedings with large, sad eyes. She sat patiently, demurely, composedly. Even she could not fathom why she was so calm.

The Mass finally ended, and people began preparing themselves for the trek to the graveyard. Edmond had stayed behind to speak with the Archbishop briefly while Odette and Mélanie ushered the children outside into the pleasant sun and air.

The Trouillefou's were still outside, as if waiting expectantly for the Mass to end. Élodie hesitated for a brief moment, before deciding to sidle out from Odette's care and over to where they stood. Both men remained silent as she approached them, flushed by both her daring to openly break her father's rules and the warm day's breeze. She noticed both had removed their hats and masks, and the caravan was now nearly all covered with black palls. Cyrano seemed to have been adjusting one as she came nearer. None of them said anything for a few minutes, until Clopin finally managed a feeble, "Élodie…" before trailing off into uneasiness.

"It's my mother," she said plainly, voice devoid of any emotion. "She's dead." She blinked hard at that. Saying it made it so much more… real. Clopin made a motion as if to take her into his arms and embrace her, but thought better about it and instead patted her gently on the shoulder.

"I am sorry for your loss, Mademoiselle Élodie," Cyrano told her sorrowfully. "It is never easy to lose a mother or a wife," he gave Clopin a meaningful look. The younger man nodded in agreement. Élodie sighed heavily, suddenly feeling very hot and stuffy in her dress.

"I don't understand." Both men looked at her curiously. "It is the first pleasant day in so long. How can the sun be shining today?" She shifted in her dress. "The world shouldn't be happy today."

"Alas, _Chérie,_ but the world does not stop for our sorrow, nor does it pause to let us mourn," Cyrano told her, sagely, smoothing the remaining black cloak around the van. She nodded sadly, looking about the square. Everything else had returned to normal; the shops and merchants had gone back to selling their goods, and Élodie noticed how bright the other shops looked compared to the gypsy caravan, which was normally the boldest of them all and now subdued by mournful coverings.

A soft "Élodie" from behind her alerted her to Daniel's presence. She turned around to regard him. "We will be leaving soon, for the graveyard. Father says we will come back to the square after they've buried-" he didn't finish that sentence. Instead, he turned to Clopin and asked, "Will you wait?" Clopin was taken aback, but nodded. Taking Élodie's hand, Daniel led her back to where the rest of their party was gathered. She took the opportunity to ask him, "Why are we coming back?"

"Father has some business with Judge Frollo, or so he says."

Élodie frowned. "How can he think about visiting that horrible man today?"

Daniel looked horrified. "Élodie, don't speak like that," he admonished. "I'm sure Father has very good reasons for visiting Monsieur Frollo." Satisfied that the matter was settled, he moved on to another topic. "You should be careful around that gypsy. I know he seems nice, but Father would not approve."

"Is that all you care about, Father's approval?" She remarked angrily. "It doesn't matter that Clopin is a good person, not if he's a gypsy."

"Father's approval is important," Daniel stated, quietly. "I'm just warning you."

She yanked her hand violently from his and marched forward. She stubbornly refused to speak to him on the ride over to the cemetery and as they made their way to the burial ground, but her anger toward her brother dissipated as she watched several men lower her mother's coffin down into the ground; rather, she was overcome by an intense sadness, and she clung to her brother's arm tightly, burying her face into his cloak. He patted her consolingly on the shoulder as Élodie breathed in heavily, not crying but very near to tears.

The Archdeacon said more hymns and prayers over the casket, blessing it, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost," crossing the air with his hand. Élodie looked at her younger sister; tears streaked violently down Emeline's face, and she reached over to stroke the young girl's hair gingerly.

They remained at the grave site for what seemed like ages, before their father finally announced they were going to get back in the carriage and head for the square. Solemnly, each child obeyed and they made their way back. As they reached the square, the carriage pulled to a stop, and their father hastily made his way out, citing to Odette he had business at the Palace of Justice, and instructing her to take the children to the plaza until he was finished. Élodie hadn't the faintest idea what could possibly be so important today of all days, but at the same time thought contently that she could at least see Clopin again – she needed cheering up desperately today. They set off at a walk, being not too far off from the central of the square (the coach had stopped at the Palace). When the caravan came into view, she saw that neither Clopin nor Cyrano remained, and felt a flush of disappointment. Casually strolling away from Odette, who seemed to sense the girl wanted her space, she ambled along the rest of the square, observing the shops and wondering why they didn't stay.

She had begun to pass an alleyway when a hand shot out and closed itself firmly on her forearm. She gasped as she was pulled roughly into the alley, off-balance and dizzily. As she turned to look at her captor, she saw it was only Clopin and his father. "We're less likely to be seen here," he explained, and she nodded in understanding. He waited briefly before asking, "…Well?"

"Well, what?" She sank down onto some wooden crates that littered themselves along the passageway. She swung her legs absently, not bothering to look at either man. Neither made a sound. She huffed, before continuing, "Father says he has business with Frollo."

Cyrano frowned. "On a day like this, he's meeting with the Lord Judge of Paris?"

She shrugged, but missed the dark look exchanged between father and son. The pattering of footsteps alerted them all, but they relaxed when it was only Daniel that turned the corner.

"There you are," he said hesitantly. "I thought I saw you come this way." She looked at him expectantly. He shuffled his feet for a few minutes, as if unsure, before thrusting a poorly wrapped package into her hands. "I wanted to say I'm sorry, about earlier." She looked down at the package. "Also… well, I'm just sorry for you, Élodie." Delicately, she unwrapped the package. Her eyes widened as the makeshift wrapping fell away, revealing a beautiful silver chain with a pearl pendant, glimmering in the sunlight. Overwhelmed, she flung her arms around his neck tightly, necklace still clutched in her hands, absolutely breathless. "_Maman _told me to get you something with a pearl. For your birthday," he added, hastily, as if afraid to dwell on the topic of their mother for too long. He took the necklace from her and began latching it around her neck. "_Maman _said you would look the prettiest with pearls…" his voice trailed off softly.

Clopin suddenly brought up his hand to smack his forehead. "It's your birthday!" He lamented aloud, shaking his head. "Of course – I forgot about your gift!"

"Clopin, I _told_ you –"

He didn't listen, instead pulling out from within his cloak what looked like a limp blue rag, and handing it to her tenderly. She examined it carefully, before laughing in surprise. "The puppet – this puppet is the one I saved!" She exclaimed.

Cyrano laughed, while Clopin smiled widely, saying, "Yes… well, I thought it was about time I gave it to you. You are its rightful owner." She looked at him quizzically, but Daniel, who was still looking at the puppet, cried out.

"It's _you_, Élodie." She looked down in surprise. Yes, now she could see what she could not before – the puppet was dressed in a satin blue cloth, with curly blond hair, tied up by a purple ribbon. She looked at Clopin in amazement.

"He made it shortly after meeting you. I guess you could see you were his 'stroke of inspiration'," Cyrano chuckled, while Clopin shot his father an irritated glance.

"Thank you," Élodie said warmly and honestly. "Thank you both of you," she regarded both Clopin and Daniel, and they both nodded.

"I'm really sorry that it has to be today," Daniel told her mournfully. "I mean, _Maman_…" his voice seemed to cease functioning, and he said no more.

Élodie picked up for him. "I wonder if Father is done yet?" Daniel looked over his shoulder.

"Perhaps we should go back?" He suggested, and Élodie agreed. She turned and bid goodbye to the Trouillefou's, who both bowed to her in return, and enclosing her fist around her brother's, they headed back.

The rest of the day, despite being so pleasant outside, was depressing and vapid for the Delacroix's. It seemed that Daniel was the only living member of her family who remembered the significance of January 31st – outside of being the date of Dianne Delacroix's death. Élodie half-wished, as she stared out her window at the clear blue sky, _someone_ would mention the subject of her birthday; of course, whenever such thoughts crossed her mind, she flushed shamefully, horrified that she deigned to think so selfishly when everyone was mourning the loss of her mother. Her birthday certainly had not turned out as she had envisioned it. Still, she reasoned as she played with her puppet and toyed with her necklace, it certainly was not all bad. But those thoughts did not ease the yearning of wanting someone to at least sympathize with her plight. Everyone had his or her own thoughts to be distracted by, though.

Indeed, so absorbed in his own world, Edmond had hardly noticed Élodie's new gifts until supper. "Why," he began in a low, dangerous voice, "are you wearing _your mother's _hair comb?" He emphasized the words meticulously, clearly under the impression she had insensitively pilfered through her mother's belongings.

"She gave it to me," Élodie explained, in a cautious tone.

"And when," he continued with a mocking sweetness, "did she 'give it to you'?"

"Last night. She said it was my birthday present."

This revelation seemed to shock Edmond. Certainly, Élodie could practically see the news of her birthday running through his mind, comprehension dawning in his eyes. "It's your birthday?"

"Yes. Look at what Daniel gave me." She pulled out the necklace to show him, not necessarily to be cruel, but gently rebuking his mistake by proving to him she was not entirely forgotten by her family. He stared at it for a moment, and opened his mouth to say something; but then, as if thinking better of his actions, closed it once again and proceeded to ignore Élodie the rest of supper.

Madame Odette and Mélanie did however try to amend their folly; both were especially sweet to Élodie, cooing over her far more than usual (to the displeasure of their normal subject, Emeline), and offering her second helpings of dessert. Élodie told them she was full (a half-truth, though she mostly wanted to escape the presence of her father), and excused herself from supper, citing that she needed to "lie down" because she was feeling weary. Everyone accepted this. Élodie softly went to her room, but upon arrival, she realized just how exhausted she was with the day. Changing into her nightgown, she readied herself for bed. Carefully, she pried the hair comb from her hair and neatly folded it back into the red satin cloth, which she deposited in the first drawer of her bedside bureau. She unclasped the pearl necklace and delicately placed it in her jewelry box, promising herself to wear it everyday. She then took Clopin's puppet (her puppet, she mentally corrected herself), and snuggled into her bed, sinking deep into the covers and soft, warm sheets, clutching the cloth doll tightly to her heart before gently drifting off to sleep.

Élodie had never really cared for church before – it was just something she did, another rule she obeyed. She had been carefully taught the rituals of the Catholic service and understood the parts of the Mass, to be sure, but she had never truly comprehended before the thought of God as a universal being and Heaven as an eternal sanctuary. She had always thought Notre Dame a pretty place to go, but never really understood why one would be drawn to the wooden pews and hard stone floors to pray.

Until now. She had begun visiting regularly, usually accompanied by Daniel and either Odette or Mélanie; Emeline was too young. Granted, Élodie did not so much pray in the Cathedral as much as simply walk around and examine the fine statues as her mother once loved doing. Still, it was something she had never done before – show a genuine interest in the Cathedral beyond admiring the aesthetic. When she asked her father if she could go to the square, she had no desire to steal peeks at the gypsy caravan as he suspected of her; indeed, when he asked her just why she wanted to go, she responded in that childish, simplistic way of hers by saying, "I want to go to the Church." Edmond seemed almost as if he were profoundly affected by her words, and granted her request.

He must have assumed that she was going to pray – and she felt slightly guilty for encouraging this deception; but inside the walls of Notre Dame, walking hand-in-hand with Daniel, gazing at the statues and stained-glass windows, Élodie felt completely at ease. It was a way of connecting to her mother; Élodie liked to imagine Dianne was walking alongside her children.

While she normally came to Notre Dame with Daniel, this particular February morning he did not come; Edmond had wanted Daniel to stay behind for some reason or another, to have a father-to-son conversation, and Élodie instead went along only with Mélanie. They did not take the carriage – the weather was pleasant enough, and the walk was not so great a distance "and good for you too," according to Madame Odette. So the two ladies made their way down the cobblestone path, relishing in the sensation of the sweet-smelling breeze whipping lightly against their faces. They passed the caravan, which was abandoned today; the Trouillefou's had been absent from their post for a few days now, most likely to avoid the flurry of guards in the midst of training season. Élodie skipped up the steps of Notre Dame, bidding Mélanie goodbye – the servant girl was not too religious, and Élodie liked her privacy anyway; the older girl trusted that the young Delacroix would remain safe inside the Cathedral. Mélanie took off into the square, and Élodie pushed open the heavy door leading into the halls of Notre Dame.

The walls echoed faintly with the sound of hymns; soft candles alighted the way for Élodie, though she hardly needed any guide – she had gotten to know these halls quite well in the passing weeks. She made her way to her starting point – the large rose window that painted the inside of the Cathedral with an ethereal radiance. As she approached the widow, she saw that someone was already standing there, bathing in the rosy-hued light. Not wanting to disturb the stranger, she made her way to turn around, but a "Don't go!" beckoned her to stop. She turned back and saw a young man, motioning for her.

"You can stay, don't mind me," he waved her over, and she acquiesced. He smiled as she approach, and she noticed that his gold hair and broad stature was oddly familiar… "Lovely, isn't it?" He motioned to the window.

"_Oui_, I come here nearly every day to look at it."

He whistled, impressed. "Everyday, huh? Never been inside these walls myself; I live on the outskirts of the city, my family goes to the local church, much smaller, less…" he searched for the right word, "stylish." He glanced back up at the glass. "I'm only here for training. Military training, that is, being the eldest son in my family, I thought I should enlist." He extended his hand to her. "I'm Phoebus, by the way. It means, 'sun god'," he said, half-wryly and half-importantly. She stared.

"You speak much," she finally remarked, and he laughed.

"Suppose so," he chuckled, arm still outstretched. She finally relented and took it, placing her own tiny hand into his large, calloused one.

"Élodie," she told him demurely, and shook his hand. "I don't know what _it_ means." Phoebus laughed some more, but she continued. "I saw you before. You caught me – when I tripped outside."

He looked confused for a second, but laughed anyway. "Well, I can vaguely recall that. Nice to officially meet you then." She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Well," he started, "it was nice, but I should probably get back to training now. It won't do me any good if I spend all my time in here, looking at windows…" he bowed to her and made his way outside.

Alone again, she contentedly made way around the Cathedral, ambling along the path she had treaded for so many days now. The Archdeacon caught sight of her and nodded. The kindly old man had noticed her presence for a while now, but must have understood her pilgrimage across Notre Dame, for he never deterred nor interrupted her. Instead, he encouraged her with a small smile, before turning back to his work. She continued on, absently taking in the figures in the pews, head bent in prayer: there was an old woman, dressed finely, with a rosary clutched in her palms, a middle-aged man who had knelt on the hard ground, completely immersed, a man clothed in rich purple and yellow and rigid black hair, sitting with his back straight and eyes tightly closed. Élodie did a double take.

"Monsieur Trouillefou?" She asked tentatively.

Cyrano opened his eyes and turned to her, a smiling creeping across his features. "Ah, Mademoiselle Élodie. How lovely to see you again. I hope you are well." She smiled and responded affirmatively. "How are you fairing?" He asked her gently, moving over to allow her to join him in sitting on the pew.

"I am… I…" she struggled to find the words. Certainly, she mourned for her mother's loss, but it was so much more than mourning.

"I understand completely." Cyrano told her, kindly. "Death has a profound effect on those she touches. It his hard to find the words to describe it, _non_?" She remained silent, and he soothingly placed his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into his embrace, grateful that he did not expect anything from her – it was a nice change. "My wife died shortly after Clopin was born," he said very quietly. "I remember everything about that day. I felt so many things: anger, sadness, fear, loneliness… but after a while, I only felt – well, I guess the word would be _empty_. Clopin misses her, too." She inhaled deeply; that was the word. "But, little Élodie, it is alright to feel that way."

"Do you ever stop feeling that way?" She asked him, looking up. He smiled sadly.

"Some days, yes. And others, no. But coming here helps me, as it does you, I suspect?"

"My mother loved looking at the statues and windows. So I come to look at them too."

"I'm impressed, _Mon Chere_," he grinned. "For one so young, you understand so much – more than you realize, at any rate." He patted her head gently. "Now, I must ask you, _Chérie_, you have not seen that rascal of a son of mine, have you?" She shook her head, and he huffed. "That boy… disappears at the drop of a hat, I'll tell you."

"I can go look for him. Is he here in the Cathedral?" She offered earnestly.

"He came in with me, _oui_. _Merci,_ I would appreciate that greatly, Élodie."

She slid off the pew and curtsied to Cyrano, who bowed his head a little in response, before heading down the hall to look for the younger Trouillefou. She scoured the halls for several minutes, before disappointedly determining he was no longer there. Dissatisfied, she turned to make her way to the door, to see if he was perhaps in the square, when she collided roughly with a figure sneaking out the door leading to the tower. Shocked, she felt herself falling backward when a pair of skinny arms reached out and circled 'round her to prevent her from falling anymore. The figure attempted to reign her back and in doing so, pulled her flush against his chest.

"Oohf," she heard, followed by a surprised, "Élodie?"

She glanced up at a flustered Clopin. Smiling, she threw her arms around his midsection, hugging tightly. He let out a feeble laugh and returned the embrace before asking, "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," she responded, and told him about coming to see the statues and seeing his father. "Ah, well, the old man has nothing to worry about, for I am right here."

"Where were you?" She asked, trying to look around him into the door he just exited from.

"Oh, that," he said, sounding almost evasive. "It's nothing really, just-" something dawned across his face, and in a sly whisper, bent down and asked, "Can you keep a secret?"

She nodded, excitedly, and satisfied, he grabbed her hand and led her back into the tower staircase. She followed him up the winding stairs hurriedly, excited and anxious, until they reached the landing at the top. Before continuing further, he turned to her and told her in a hushed voice, "Don't be alarmed." Before she could ask about what she would be alarmed at, Clopin called out in a ringing voice, "Quasi!"

There was movement further into the room, and Élodie cautiously approached nearer to see better. Suddenly, a figure darted out from the darkness, and Élodie gasped in surprise and shock. It was a boy – or at least, she thought it was. Its face was horribly disfigured; one eye was twice the size of its other, its mouth was lopsided and teeth were unequal in size and crooked, and his back was hunched over sinisterly. The boy looked just as frightened of her as she was alarmed by him.

"Now, Élodie, this is Quasimodo – the bell ringer of Notre Dame." Clopin introduced expertly. "Now, Quasi, this is the girl I was telling you about. Her name is Élodie." Quasi seemed to understand this introduction, and ran up to Élodie to take her hand and shake it. She was still quite shocked, but shook his hand in return. It was surprisingly warm and comforting, she thought.

"Élodie, Quasi has a particular gift. Do you want to show her, Quasimodo?" The boy nodded, dragging her further into the room. Upon a wooden table, there were large wooden sculptures – sculptures of the city, of its inhabitants. Élodie was astounded at the likeness of everything. "You made these?" She asked, incredulously.

"Ah, but that is not all Quasimodo makes," Clopin explained, drawing from his pocket puppet. "Quasi helps put the finishing touches on all my puppets. He paints their faces and the like – I have no talent for it, so he does it for me. I repay him in wood blocks, for him to make his little Paris." He gestured to the dolls upon the table.

"I, I-I made your puppet," the boy spoke, shyly.

Élodie's fear dissipated, replaced instead with awe. "You did? Oh, monsieur, _c'est fantastique!" _She exclaimed, and Quasimodo looked abashed. Clopin seemed thoroughly satisfied with himself. "Now, Élodie, we should be going. My father was waiting for me, _non?_" She was slightly disappointed, but smiled brightly at Quasi, thanking him once more, before taking Clopin's hand and allowing him to lead her out. "_Au revoir,_ Quasi!" He called over his shoulder.

Once they reached the lower level, Élodie began to lead him to Cyrano. His father appeared to be deep in prayer when they neared him, so Clopin whispered, "Let's wait a little while longer." She agreed. An idea suddenly struck her.

"Come with me," she pulled him along, down the hall.

"Where are you taking me, _petite l'un?_" He asked, amused.

"You'll see," she evaded his question, and continued down the passageway. Finally, they reached their destination.

"What is this?" Clopin asked, breathlessly.

"This was my mother's favorite part of Notre Dame," Élodie said, reverently. "The statue of the Blessed Virgin, Mary."

"It's beautiful," he told her, sincerely.

She agreed. "I like coming here to look at the statue. I don't miss _Maman_ as much when I do." He didn't say anything, but she knew that he understood her, anyway. "Your father told me about your mother."

"I don't remember her," he said, subdued. "But I miss her."

"I know," Élodie said, plainly. "That's why I brought you here to look at the statue."

He looked at her intensely, as if seeing her for the first time. His grip on her hand tightened into a brief squeeze, and they stood silently, gazing up at the Blessed Mother, painted in a rosy light.

**AN: So, yeah, this was a kind of depressing and at the same time uplifting chapter. I've been dying to write that Cyrano/Élodie interaction thing for a while now – I'm glad I got my chance.**

**Pheebs! Gosh, I love him…. He'll definitely be more prominent in **_**much later chapters**_**.**

**Quasi – unfortunately, this is all we see of him for a while. He'll be mentioned, but probably not seen for a long time. I love him, though. And here's my reasoning for throwing him in here – obviously, in the movie, Clopin knows who Quasi is; we see this in the Topsy Turvy scene, when Clopin basically stalks Quasi, and then later actually announces "Quasimodo, the Hunchback of Notre Dame." So, we can assume by their behavior in that scene that Quasi and Clopin know each other. This chapter is just my reasoning on **_**how**_**.**

**Fun Fact: I listened to **_**Sleep**_** and **_**Displaced **_**by Azure Ray while writing this (alternating on repeat for both). They are nice complements to the words… so if you like reading with a soundtrack, I'm just letting you know. **_**I'll Try**_** by Jonatha Brooke was also listened to when forming the outline of this chapter. **

**Fun Fact # 2: I wrote the end of the story today. Granted, it's a rough, rough draft, and I already have changed it several times, but the basics are all there. Isn't that exciting – now I have a goal to reach, to finish this story. It's not just going to die like so many other fics do. Granted, it may take a long while to get to the end (because, apparently my brain likes thinking of about 2 extra chapters everyday), but we will get there)!**

**Another fun fact (# 3, is it?): I really like pearls. **

**That's all, folks. Oh, a please read and review! **


	6. Part I, Chapter 6

**Firstly, thank you to all who gave condolences about my grandpa – I appreciate it so much, I cannot even say.**

**Booklover – thank you! That really means a lot – and you're right, that chapter does have a lot of sentimental value. Thank you. Phoebus – oh Phoebus. He's my second favorite character after Clopin – I mean, the wry wit, the whole "sun god"… he's hysterical. And he plays an important role in the future… granted, the very far off future, but it's important nonetheless! And I have to say, I love Cyrano – and his relationship with Élodie is really important! And he's awesome and nice… you'll see more of him too! Once again, thanks!**

**HatefulShinobi – Edmond's a bastard. Maybe that's cliché, to have a bad father of whatever, but he has to be a bastard. Just because that's the way the world is – and that's how I roll. Edmond is the culmination of all the "father figures" I have/had in my life – granted, he is much more bastardized, but the elements are still there. And him being a bastard is key for future plot points and Élodie's own character development. Oh, and I have to say: Thanks; I felt rather proud of my Clopin/Quasi relationship theory! I thought it was clever…. And thank you for once again reviewing! I love your dedication – you inspire me!**

**GypsyKingClopin – what more can I say? Every time you review, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside! Thanks!**

**Megan – Thank you so much! Thanks about the French tip – I'll go back and change it. Unfortunately, because I used a translator, I couldn't discern that difference between male/female – you've helped tremendously. And don't worry, the years will go by faster than you think… with lots in-between!**

**I dunno if I actually stated it in last chapter, but Quasi is actually YOUNGER than Élodie… possibly by two years. Yes, he doesn't seem like he's **_**that**_** young, but he is… because it's the only way my timeline works out... () Speaking of timelines, I was looking over mine, and realized that this story actually takes place 15 years before HOND… why? You ask. Because I realized I was making Clopin far too young (he's at least hit his 30's by HOND), and now, this puts him at 30 for HOND, Élodie at 23, and Quasi at 21 (which he's supposed to be, according to canon! Disney). Esmeralda, for the record, would be about 25 (I'm guessing, I actually – in the novel, she's only 16, but Disney's Esme was far more mature than that!), and Pheebs is 28 (again, just me pulling ages out of my hat).**

**So, this chapter I kept putting off, mainly because I have so many things that I want to write, but I know that I have to put a lot of information in this chapter before I can get to those other things. Plus, my outline on this one is seriously lacking… and I was kinda waiting for Harry Potter to finally come out, and therefore putting off most of my other fandoms. Now I've read and finished HP, I can concentrate on this (until I think of plot bunnies to write about my favorite now-of-age wizards). **

**BTW, I'm gonna try posting this in the actual HoND section of ff dot net, to see if it generates any interest there. After a brief trial run, I'll see whether I want to keep it there or move it back to Disney. Feedback on where you guys think it should be would also be greatly appreciated!**

Arlette Charbonneau was the epitome of the French _beauté sociale_ – incredibly handsome, appropriately charming, and wealthier than three-fourths of the population of Paris. She was well respected, much sought-after, and highly coveted. Many other wealthy Parisians, men and women alike, admired her and her popularity always won her a place at the finest balls and gatherings. She was, in short, a marvel.

Élodie did not like her.

With stunning platinum-blonde hair (always pulled regally back into some elaborate hair style), a pointed yet slightly up-turned nose, thin but gracefully curved lips, and ice-cold blue eyes, Madame Charbonneau gave off a distinct air of arrogance that was as equally fascinating as it was revolting. Indeed, Élodie could not understand how the woman managed to be so well liked. She gave off the impression of rarely being impressed by or interested in anything – indeed, it was this churlish attitude that somehow encouraged those around her to work harder for her approval. Those brave (or foolish) enough to attempt to engage in conversation with her were nearly always met by the same imperial sneer and arched eyebrows. She seemed to have a general loathing for nearly everyone else.

Except Edmond Delacroix. Madame Charbonneau had deemed him worthy of her presence and time. It must have been the lavishness of his attire, the wealth of his estate, possibly the air of arrogance he emanated (which equaled her own). But there was something about the Monsieur that had caught her attention, and he was one of the few Parisians she could tolerate. In turn, Edmond had welcomed Madame Charbonneau into his acquaintances; often had he invited her to the estate, and encouraged a fruitful relationship between both Arlette and Dianne (though neither woman seemed to sincerely enjoy one another's company). That minute detail did not stop Arlette from attending the late Madame Delacroix's funeral, however; nor did it prevent her from accepting Edmond's generous invitation that she return with him to his estate later that night, where the closest of Dianne's friends and relatives had culminated to have a feast in honor of her memory.

"Oh Edmond, I cannot even begin to imagine the pain you and your family must feel after suffering such loss," Arlette spoke in a low purring voice. "Such a shame," she droned on, sounding only half-sincere, but Edmond seemed not to notice. Élodie surveyed the scene with great discomfort; Madame Charbonneau, she had learned from her late mother, had been a widow for several years now, "and most ill-bred," if she recalled her mother's description correctly.

Élodie's distaste did not stop there. For not only was Madame Charbonneau so surly and unpleasant a character, but she had two equally surly and unpleasant children to follow in her haughty footsteps. Dorianne Charbonneau, a young lad some two years older than Daniel, and Opaline, his sister, who was just barely older than Élodie herself, were spoiled, conceited, and the pride and joy of their doting mother. Each had their mother's blonde hair and cold eyes, in addition to inheriting Arlette's sense of superiority.

Élodie wished away the minutes, sitting stiffly in a large armchair that adorned the parlor as Edmond conversed with Arlette in the dining room next door. Various other families approached him during this time, expressing their condolences before continuing to chat with other guests. He regarded them each with stiff cordiality, before turning his attention back to Arlette. Élodie tried to make out their conversation, but alas, they were just out of earshot, it seemed.

Accompanying her in the parlor were her own siblings and the Charbonneau children, who looked thoroughly uninterested in their current situation. Opaline opened her mouth to comment.

"My, how dreadfully boring this is," she remarked lazily, glancing over at her brother. "Must we really stay?"

"Mother knew the woman who died," her brother replied back, causally.

"Our mother," Élodie answered, her voice intense, despite her best efforts to keep it neutral and free of anger.

"Right. Sorry," he drawled in response, not sounding the least bit so. Élodie scowled slightly, but Dorianne pretended not to notice; instead, he looked at Daniel. "Show me your quarters," he commanded rather than asked. Élodie tried to catch her brother's eye, signal to him to not fold under the older boy's harsh voice, but Daniel, ever the compliant one, looked rather sheepish and began to do as he was told. The boys made to exit the parlor, and Opaline stood suddenly and regally.

"You show me yours," she barked at Élodie. Élodie felt her blood boil in that moment, for while she normally was a quite pleasant-natured girl, there were too many emotions running through her today, and she was feeling quite rebellious.

"No, thank you," she replied with half-sweetness, half-reprisal; she then stood, and smiling satisfactorily at the stricken look on Mademoiselle Charbonneau's face, turned to venture out into the gardens.

The outside was uninhabited by any unwanted guests, and Élodie felt slightly easier now she was by herself. As she strolled the pathway, she lamented quietly at the loss of not only her Mother, but Bisou as well. She felt extremely guilty at the thought of forgetting her beloved friend, whom she missed dearly. She had no one now; Bisou and her Mother were the closest things to her heart, though Daniel, bless him, had done everything he could to help ease her suffering. But she would never have the complete closeness with him as she had with her mother – he still cherished some semblance of relationship with their father. That would be the one thing that always divided them, she mourned.

"Psst."

Élodie stopped cold. She couldn't be sure, but she was quite under the impression that a nearby shrub has whispered to her. She stared, wide-eyed, as the shrub continued.

"Élodie!"

Frightened now, she began walking backward, nearly tripping, wanting to full out run back to the house but not wanting to turn around out of curiosity at the sight of a talking shrubbery. The bush quivered and shook, and she continued backward, warily, when with a _pop_, out came…

"Puppet?" She asked, incredulously. Sure enough, the clothed doll swung about merrily, and she walked nearer, peering into the bush.

"Clopin!" She admonished, trying to bite down on the smile that was threatening to edge across her face. Concealed within the bush, she could hardly make out all his features, but it was nonetheless undeniably Clopin Trouillefou – the shimmer of an earring and glittering of teeth were enough to prove her hypothesis correct.

"Shhh, _Mon Chere_, do try to keep it down, won't you?" He replied softly, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I highly doubt your Father would be very inclined to invite me in for dinner."

"What are you doing here? Why have you come?" She snapped, swiveling her head to make sure they were alone.

"No reason," he replied, evasively. She huffed.

"You had better leave."

"But why, when I can keep you company?" He quipped, forcing Puppet to clip her on the nose with a "kiss". She shook her head, flustered.

"If someone sees you-"

"I'm quite well hidden, thank you. I've been in this ratted shrub for at least an hour."

Élodie made to respond, before closing her mouth confusedly. "Why?" She queried.

"Obviously, I wanted to make sure you were okay." He responded, plainly, as if this revelation were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I'm fine, really, you must go, - "

"_Excuse_ me?" A petulant voice called out through the maze of foliage, and casting a panicked glance at Clopin, Élodie forced Puppet back into the bush.

Opaline Charbonneau came out from behind some greenery. She was, however, also accompanied by her brother and Daniel, the former looking annoyed and the latter looking bewildered.

"Are you talking to that bush?" Opaline queried, snobbishly.

"Yes," Élodie answered cheekily, "yes, I quite enjoy speaking to the flora." Neither Opaline nor Dorianne were amused; rather, both looked positively affronted. Daniel stifled a laugh behind them. Élodie could have sworn that the bush faintly laughed, too.

"Your father wanted to know where you were," Dorianne snapped impatiently. "Opaline said she saw you come out here."

Daniel interrupted him. "You should come inside now, Élodie," his voice was much more gentle than his companions. She nodded, and careful to not look back at the talking plant, followed him inside.

She did not, however, continue trailing them to the dining room. Instead, she broke rank and hustled upstairs, to the comforts of her room. Feeling safe and content, she walked to her bureau and pulled out her little girl puppet, and caressed it gingerly. Experimentally, she pulled the doll onto her hand and wiggled her fingers about. The cloth mimicked her, flapping its soft arms to-and-fro. She giggled in spite of herself – her puppeteer skills were certainly lacking, but perhaps she could sneak some pointers from Clopin when her father was unawares.

She sat in her room for a while, amusing herself with her toy, when the door swung open abruptly. Startled, she rose and turned her attention to the intruder. It was no one but Opaline, who quite unabashedly marched into the room and examined it imperiously.

"So, this is your room?" Her voice shrilled. "Well, it certainly is much smaller than mine, and I have far more bookshelves and dolls, from the looks of it too." She strode about some more, over to the wardrobe. "I have more dresses as well," her voice being as condescending as possible, most likely in an attempt to provoke some sort of reaction from Élodie. The Delacroix child, though deeply incensed, forced herself to not retaliate, taking deep calming breaths to ebb her anger.

"_What_ is _that?_" A squeal of disdain rang out.

"What?" Élodie asked irritably, not bothering to conceal her aggravation this time.

Opaline pointed to the cloth puppet in Élodie's hand. "That _thing_ you are holding?" She marched right up to the younger girl and snatched the puppet away. "Is this one of your dolls? It's disgusting!" She tossed the puppet to the ground, as if she were discarding a soiled old rag. Élodie looked at her, fuming, but it seemed another object had caught Opaline's attention.

"What is _that_?" She asked with more curiosity in her voice than detest, and before Élodie knew what was happening, she felt her mother's hair comb being yanked from her curled tresses. She gasped in pain, but the older girl was oblivious, instead concentrating solely on the glimmering object that now rested in her palms.

"This is actually nice," she said with mild interest, examining the Élodie's possession closer. Élodie, now outright angry at Opaline's snobbery, snatched the hair comb back.

"It was my mother's, thank you." She clutched it close to her chest. Opaline frowned, but before she could comment, Arlette's velvet voice grabbed both girls' attention.

"Oh, Edmond, how quaint – they're making friends," she said, the sugary tone in her voice quite unnerving to Élodie. She turned to see that both Arlette and her Father stood in the doorframe of her room now, observing their daughters.

"Well, it's a good thing then, now that we've settled upon our 'agreement'," Edmond finished, giving Madame Charbonneau a satisfied smile. Élodie did not like the underlying message in his statement.

"What 'agreement'?" She questioned in a tone that was as polite as she could muster; Edmond looked at Arlette, who gave him a knowing nod, and he elucidated.

"I've invited the Charbonneau's to stay for a few days. Their manor resides far off in the country, and their presence would greatly help our family cope," he recited, and Élodie's face fell.

"They're staying?" She asked, a mixture of surprise, horror, and desperation invading her speech. But the look Edmond shot her at that moment prevented any more words straying from her lips, and livid, she watched as Opaline smugly left her room, on the tail of her equally smug mother and Edmond. Huffing violently, she picked up her puppet from where that dreadful girl had discarded it, and looked at it. "They're only staying for a few days," she spoke, to herself and to her puppet. "We must simply hold our tongue and keep our temper until they leave." And with this resolve, Élodie carefully placed both her puppet and her hair comb back into their proper resting places.

But a 'few days' turned into a week, and a week turned into two weeks, and before Élodie knew it the days flew by and over a month had passed. She had done her best to cope with the Charbonneau's presence – she did as she had promised herself would do, and she held her tongue in check and controlled her behavior, difficult though it was. March had come, and the sky was clear and bright, the air was perfumed sweetly by the blooming flora of the season, and Élodie had a dilemma – Daniel's birthday was just days away. She knew it would only be proper to find him a gift, considering he had spent his own savings to buy her necklace (which she had worn diligently, just as she had sworn to do). She fiddled with her puppet (which Daniel had affectionately nicknamed "Little Elle"), brainstorming different ideas… but she seemed to have little luck. "There must be _something_ I can get him," she chewed her lip thoughtfully. Lost in thought, she let her eyes bore into Little Elle – and then it hit her… why hadn't she thought of it before?

Excitedly, she stored Little Elle away and made her way down the corridor, to her father's study – if she was going to get Daniel's gift, she would have to be granted permission to go to the city.

Her father, it seemed, was preoccupied with another visitor already. The door was cracked slightly ajar, and curiously, Élodie approached, doing her best to discern the identity of Edmond's guest while remaining quite ignored.

It was Frollo.

"Now, Edmond, I do urge you to not act in haste," Frollo's deep timbre vibrated from the open door. Élodie stealthily crept nearer.

"I've given this much thought, Claude. I am actually surprised at your hesitancy – the arrangement is beneficial to all parties involved," her father replied, silkily.

"Do not mistake my intentions, Edmond. I simply must make certain you are aware of the – ah – implications that will most certainly be addressed because of the announcement." Élodie struggled to follow, having no idea what the men were speaking of, but continued listening as Frollo went on, saying, "The Archbishop most definitely will voice some objections."

"I am not doing anything wrong – he cannot call me a sinner for doing what I deem best for my family," Edmond said stiffly. "One cannot deny the arrangement is… economically advantageous, _non_?"

Frollo laughed at that. "Oh yes, economically advantageous indeed."

"Arlette is nearly as wealthy as I – and just as devoted to our cause, Claude. Oh, can you not see … just imagine, our wealth combined, providing you all the funding you need for your purge of the vermin invading our streets!" His laugh sent chills down Élodie's spine. "Besides, you underestimate the esteem I'm held in by not only the Church officials but the rest of the city as well."

Frollo paused, thoughtfully. "It is quite the tempting offer – I am more than pleased at your enthusiasm. Your fervor for purification of our beloved city will no doubt be greatly rewarded in Heaven." Edmond sounded pleased.

"Well, Edmond, I am grateful you have brought this to my attention – but now I must take my leave of you, as I still am a public official… I have work to do." The men bowed to one another, and made their way for the door. Hastily, Élodie shuffled back against the wall, trying to contort on her face an expression that was completely naïve and unassuming. She must have been convincing, for when the two men exited the room, upon looking at her, Frollo laughed and queried, "Now, what is this little child waiting so patiently for?"

"I must speak with my Father," she spoke lightly, careful to not look at either man lest she give away her recent transgression.

"Yes?" Her father's voice was curt.

"May I go to the square to buy a gift for Daniel's birthday?" She spoke concisely and politely, willing herself to not give him a reason to deny her request. He thought for a brief moment, before agreeing.

"I'll have Odette take you and Opaline - "

"No!" She said, perhaps a little too quickly; both men stared. "I mean…" she tried to amend her outburst, "I want his gift to be a surprise. Opaline will not be tempted to spoil the secret if she does not know about it." It was only partially true – but mostly, Élodie did not like Opaline.

"Very well, then go with Mélanie," her father snapped back, but the Judge stepped forward at that moment.

"I would be more than willing to assist the young Mademoiselles to the square – my carriage has enough room for your daughter and her attendant." Élodie's breath hitched in her throat – the thought seemed to paralyze her with fear.

"Nonsense, Claude, I refuse to have them be a bother," her father said with a tone of finality, and for once, Élodie was grateful for his overpowering nature. Frollo acquiesced with a nod, and bowing good-bye to Élodie, exited down the corridor.

The silence between father and daughter was nearly unbearably awkward, and Élodie hastily dismissed herself to find Mélanie and drag her to the square. It was easy enough – the older girl loved getting out of the Manor as often as she could; Élodie secretly suspected that Mélanie could not stand the Charbonneau's either, who treated all the hired-help horribly.

The day was clear and beautiful, and Élodie relished in the feel of the cool breeze whipping around her face. A few stray curls flew about, but the rest of her hair had been tied back with Clopin's purple hair ribbon. Both girls made their way down the pavement skipping, easy and carefree.

"And to think," Élodie called back to Mélanie, "we almost had to ride in Frollo's carriage!" She laughed and twisted her face in mock disgust. Mélanie slowed now, and her face darkened considerably. "What?" Élodie asked, stopping too, concerned with Mélanie's new melancholy.

"Do you know why Frollo was meeting with your father today?" The older girl asked in return, her serious tone worrying Élodie.

"No. I heard a small part of their conversation, but I had not the faintest idea what they were speaking of." Mélanie's frown grew.

"What exactly did they say?"

Élodie was surprised by Mélanie's sudden interest, but related to her anyway exactly what she had heard.

"'Economically advantageous?'" Mélanie repeated, a little color draining from her face.

"I haven't the slightest idea what that's supposed to mean, though," Élodie said thoughtfully, considering her options.

"Well," Mélanie's voice was hushed now. "I think I may have an idea…" her voice trailing off. Élodie leaned nearer to better hear the girl. "There have been rumors going around among us staff, talking about the Charbonneau's – particularly Madame and your father." She paused, considering her next words, before adding, "You see, both have a large amount of money – of course you know that – and it's not unnatural for two people their age to marry again. Both have lost their spouses, and it is a quite sensible thing for them to do, especially since I've heard that Madame Charbonneau is looking to marry – otherwise, she'll lose her dowry."

The pieces began to click inside Élodie's head. "You think my father will marry Madame Charbonneau?" She exclaimed, horrified. Mélanie hushed her.

"It is possible. And, given your father's conversation with Lord Frollo, it makes perfect sense!"

Élodie was aghast. "But he cannot! Oh, Mélanie, that family is wretched, they cannot possibly marry!" The older girl patted her shoulder consolingly.

"Believe me, there are many of us who feel the same. But if it is your father's wishes, we have no choice but to respect them." With that, she began her trek down the path again, and Élodie followed her in a shocked silence, trying to digest all that she had just learned. The rest of the trip was miserable for the girl, and even the sight of the flamboyant caravan did little to raise her spirits. Now, she realized, she had another dilemma on her hands – how was she to get rid of Mélanie to speak with Clopin?

Élodie stalled, but Mélanie surprised her then. "Oh go on, already." Élodie turned and stared. "Mademoiselle Élodie, I am not so inattentive as Madame Odette. I know perfectly well you are friends with those gypsies." Élodie was sure her mouth was hanging wide open now, but could not muster words to speak. "I do not intend on telling anyone," Mélanie said with a mischievous smile. Immensely grateful, Élodie grabbed her hand and began dragging her over to the caravan.

"You should meet them then!" The little girl exclaimed, quite happy now at the sudden turn of events, and Mélanie laughed behind her as they made their way to the front of the crowd.

The Trouillefous were mid-show, so Élodie would have to wait to speak with Clopin, but she did not mind at all. Rather, she realized she had never actually gotten to watch them perform before; it was a nice change. The show was Cinderella, Élodie's favorite, and she watched in fascination as Clopin and Cyrano made their puppets dance across their makeshift stage. Clopin caught sight of her, and though he was surprised to see her, winked and carried on. The finale was met with a round of applause from the amused children and older spectators, and satisfied with their performance, the gypsies gave a bow before excusing themselves. Cyrano exited the caravan to collect their coins, while Clopin made his way over to Élodie and Mélanie.

"How lovely it is to see you again, _Mon Amie_," he bowed to her. He caught sight of Mélanie, and his smile brightened – Élodie could have sworn she saw something in his eyes change, too. "And who is this beautiful mademoiselle?" He removed his hat and once again bowed regally, but this time, took Mélanie's hand to place a dainty kiss upon it. Mélanie blushed furiously, introducing herself, and Clopin returned the gesture.

Élodie surveyed the scene, a twinge of annoyance settling in her stomach – _she_ needed to talk to Clopin, and now here he was ignoring her! A pout settled on her features, but it did not go unnoticed.

"Why, now _Chérie_, what troubles you?" Puppet inquired, fully in her face. Taken aback by the abruptness of his appearance, she wobbled backwards slightly, but righted her balance and looked at Clopin, slightly irritated.

"I need to talk to you," her voice slightly wavering with her newfound unpleasantness, and Clopin raised an eyebrow, torn between amusement and curiosity.

"Oh you do now, Élodie? Well, then, out with it."

She turned to slightly glare at Mélanie. "It is private," she said, pointedly, and the girl looked confused and slightly hurt by Élodie's expression. She grabbed Clopin's hand and dragged him away, off into the alley where they commonly held their secret excursions.

"My, someone woke up on the wrong side of _le lit_ this morning, _non?_" Clopin asked, clearly finding her bad mood amusing. She glared at him too, and he laughed. "Well, what is it?"

"I need to ask you a favor." She stated simply, almost with a hint of superiority. Clopin raised his brow again.

"Oh, a favor, _Mon Chere_." His voice had a jesting tone to it, but Élodie did not miss the slight mockery of it either. "The little miss wants a favor of Monsieur Trouillefou – how unlucky for her, then, that he doesn't feel very giving today." His voice was colder than normal, his words dripping with cynicism. Apparently, her sour behavior had affected him more than she originally thought. She'd never seen him like this; his face had morphed into a slight sneer, and her face suddenly burned with shame.

"_Je suis désolé,_" she apologized, sincerely humbled, but the irritated expression did not fade.

"I should say so, Mademoiselle Delacroix; marching up to me, dragging me away from a beautiful lady to cater to your whims without so much as a _'s'il vous plait.'_" Tears threatened her, but she bit her lip and resolutely determined to not crumble. His expression softened slightly, becoming more passive now.

"What may I do for you, mademoiselle?"

She hesitated, before asking quietly, "A favor. Will you?"

He thought for a moment. "If I do, will you tell me why you are in such an unhappy mood today?" She remained silent, lost in her mind; she could tell him, about her Frollo and the Charbonneaus, about her father and Arlette… but how would she explain to him that she was mad at him only because he was overly kind to Mélanie? That seemed far too childish.

"I am just not feeling very well today," she lied. He was not thoroughly convinced, but he left her explanation alone.

"What do you need?"

She explained to him the situation, and told him of her plan. He listened, inertly, and when she had finished, she glanced at him to gauge his reaction. He stayed silent.

"I'll see what I can do," he promised half-heartedly, and this non-committal assent did little to boost her confidence in the plan.

"_Merci_," she responded, glumly, and abandoned him to quickly make her way back to Mélanie. The poor girl had been left quite alone and confused, but waited patiently for her charge to return.

"What is wrong, Élodie?" She queried at the sight of the girl, whose eyes were brimming with tears and lip was trembling. Élodie shook her head.

"Now, Mademoiselle," Cyrano's comforting timbre had suddenly appeared out of the caravan; he clasped a hand onto her shoulder. "You do not look well."

Clopin had sidled up to the group at that point, unnoticed by the other three.

"Is it because of earlier?" Mélanie continued, concerned. "What we talked about? Oh, I knew I should have never told you about - "

"It's nothing, Mélanie," she said quickly, not wanting the contents of their earlier talk to be spilled to the observers. But it had not gone unnoticed.

"What about earlier?" Clopin asked sharply. Mélanie opened her mouth, to explain, but Élodie cut her off.

"Frollo came to visit." She said hastily, hoping the little amount of information would both appease the gypsies' interest and distract them.

"Frollo?" Cyrano's voice boomed. "No wonder you look ill. That man's presence tends to have that affect on people," he winked at her, and she smiled a little, satisfied that her plan had worked.

The slightest trace of guilt now spread across Clopin's features, but he made no comment. Élodie took advantage of the silence. "We should go now." She clasped Mélanie's hand. "_Au revoir_," she curtsied, more to Cyrano than his son, and marched off with Mélanie in tow. The journey home was silent.

Feeling resigned and still in a very bad mood, Élodie confined herself in her room – she feared that exposing her father to her temper would only lead to more trouble, and feigned illness when she was called for supper. Truth be told, she wasn't all that hungry to begin with; it seemed her appetite had been lost in the days events.

She still felt horribly about her encounter with Clopin today. She could not fathom why it bothered her so much that he showered Mélanie with attention, rather than herself. She supposed that she simply had gotten used to him playfully doting upon her. She shook her head. How foolish it had been, for Clopin was simply being nice to Mélanie. And Mélanie deserved such treatment now and again – she suffered at the hands of the Charbonneaus, who took advantage of every opportunity to make her work more difficult and miserable. Élodie felt even worse for being so cruel to the older girl.

A sharp rapping at her noise alarmed her, and she bolted upright off her bed. Something was at her window. Cautiously, she approached, trying to make out the figure in the dimming light outside. Clopin sat, perched on her windowsill, waiting patiently for her. Hastily, she reached up and undid the bolt, and window swung open. He leaned in halfway and thrust a poorly wrapped package into her hands.

"Your favor, mademoiselle."

She wrapped her arms around his neck forcefully, causing him to nearly lose his balance and go tumbling off the sill, but she did not relinquish her grip.

"_Merci_, Clopin, oh thank you so much!"

"Don't mention it. Please, stop choking me now," he coughed feebly, and she stepped back apologetically. He straightened his collar and smiled.

"I'm sorry." Her voice sounded more meek than usual.

"And I as well," he bowed his head. They fell into an awkward silence. Clopin cleared his throat, almost nervously, before asking, "Where is your friend? Mélanie?"

Élodie forced herself to suppress that familiar twinge. "She is most likely downstairs, serving dinner."

"You are not hungry tonight, Élodie?"

"I was not feeling well." She responded. Once again, he read her lie. "I feel much better now, though." She continued, lamely, before smiling once again at him.

"Thank you so much." She started once more, but he shook his head.

"Think nothing of it. Now, it is your turn to do me a favor." She looked at him with rapt attention. He pulled a red ribbon from his pocket. "Give this to Mélanie for me, will you?" She hesitated, before taking the ribbon. "Thank you," he finished as her grip tightened on the sash, and she managed a feeble nod.

Oncoming footsteps alerted them both, and with a whisper, Clopin stated, "I should leave now." She nodded, and before he left, he dipped down to hug her once more. He then slid off the sill and out into the Parisian night.

She didn't have time to close her window, so she was immensely relieved when it was only Daniel who entered the room. He looked at her warily.

"What are you doing?"

She considered lying, but she had done enough of that for one day – instead, she walked over and handed him the package Clopin had delivered.

"Birthday present," she said, trying to contain her excitement. He looked genuinely surprised and dumbfounded.

"Élodie, my birthday is not for another three days!"

"Oh, open it all ready!" She exclaimed, feeling much lighter and more pleasant than before. He did as she implored him, and smiled brightly at the gift bestowed upon him.

"…It's me," he laughed, and indeed it was; a small puppet, in the likeness of Daniel, lay in the now-open packaging.

"I asked Clopin to help me get it," she explained. "Do you like it?"

He nodded, "It's wonderful," and she knew he was honest.

"Don't show Father," she warned him, and he laughed even more.

"I wouldn't dare." She smiled, satisfied. He pocketed the puppet and said, "Which reminds me: Father needs to see us. All of us."

She looked at him, taken aback. "Why?"

"I don't really know. He said there is something he needs to announce to us and the Charbonneaus."

Élodie felt a sudden chill overtake her – she had a slight idea of what exactly it was her father was so eager to announce.

They made their way to the parlor, where the rest of the Delacroix and Charbonneau families had already settled themselves in.

"Now, I have something very important to tell you all," Edmond began, his voice dripping with eagerness. The knot in Élodie's stomach tightened. She watched as her father took Arlette's hand, and then quickly averted her gaze to the floor, staring at the lush, red carpeting. His voice only barely registered in her ears… the words "marry Arlette" and "wedding" the only ones that stood out. Around her, she heard Opaline's gasp of joy, Dorianne leaping to his feet to embrace his mother, even Daniel's modest "Wonderful, Father." She felt Edmond's eyes upon her, and she met his fierce gaze; she smiled weakly, finding the lump that had congregated in her throat too much of a hindrance in her speech.

As the adults made their way to inform the rest of the household, Élodie quietly slipped off to her room. She was…dejected, was the only word to describe it. Her head was throbbing – it was too much to take in one day! She was still only a child!

In that brief moment of weakness, she hated her mother for dying.

No sooner than the thought had crossed her mind, she burst into tears. She was horrible, horrible to think such a thing. She made to dry her eyes, and found that the red ribbon Clopin had left for Mélanie was still clutched tightly in her hand. With an even harder sob, she opened the top drawer of her bureau and rummaged to the bottom of it; there, she cleared a space and discarded the sash. Clopin had left the ribbon not for her, but for Mélanie. And tonight, she did not have the strength to face that terrible realization.

**AN: I have an eight-year-old sister. Young girls, I have found, tend to form very strong attractions to any older person that shows them an inordinate amount of affection. As you can see, with the loss of her dog and Mother, Élodie really represents that kind of girl.**

**Girls also get extremely jealous when that affection is directed elsewhere…**

**Clopin's cruelty is kind of coming out in this chapter. That boy has a vicious streak in him just waiting to jump out!**

**So, I hope you like this chapter. It was so laborious to write, mainly because so many things are going on. Next chapter, we'll get into the really, really good part though… the part I've been dying to write since chapter one!!! Bah!**

**Anyway, you know the drill, read and review please, lemme know what you like and what you don't, and tell me what needs improvement! Thanks so much.**


	7. Part I, Chapter 7

**Ack! Sorry about the major delay – college is kicking my butt, and I have a billion and one things to do. That, and I'm lazy. (On one hilarious note, I think I need to fix my spell-check. According to it, that last sentence should read, "I are lazy." Hm….)**

**Hokay, first, a little love for my reviewers! Thank you so much! You have no idea how much your input means to me, and how much it helps! Keep it coming guys:) **

**And here's a shout out to all the little lurkers out there who don't actually post reviews (yes, I know you're there, because there has to be more people who make up the story hit list than the ones I just mentioned…) Anyway, just wanted to say "hi" and I hope you're enjoying the story! **

**Just wanted to say I'm SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY! I just started college – my life is hectic, and I'm in the honors program, so I have so much work to do. I'm blowing off some stuff to write this. Hehe. Onto chapter… was it 7 now? Ah yes, onto chapter 7!**

Her head was spinning. There was too much going on. The servants bustled back and forth between rooms, carrying fine linens, washing and scrubbing, attending to their residents. Élodie had already been dressed – well, not so much dressed as stuffed into the overly ostentatious russet satin dress, with frills and bows and all the ornaments that Élodie despised. She sat patiently as Mélanie combed gingerly through her dusty blonde curls. Mélanie herself looked lovely in a dress that was finer than the normal frock she adorned. She was just finishing pinning Élodie's hair up into her mother's pearl hair comb. "There you are," she said, kindly. They both examined Mélanie's handiwork in the looking glass. Mélanie raised her slender fingers to her own mousy brown hair, sifting through the tresses, scrutinizing. "Well, Mademoiselle, are we all ready?"

But the action of Mélanie examining her hair had reminded Élodie with a jolt of the beautiful red ribbon, Clopin's gift. Although she had promised him she would give it to Mélanie, it had lain there in her bureau for three months now – she had never gathered enough resolve to follow through with her pledge to her friend. Sighing heavily, bracing herself, she made her way over to her bedside drawer and fisted the ribbon in her hand. Walking, almost fearfully, back to the older girl, she stuck out her fist and allowed her fingers to fall limp; exposing her palm containing what was Mélanie's rightful property.

"What's this?" The servant girl exclaimed, laughing a little.

"It's from Clopin," Élodie explained plainly, her throat suddenly constricted. Mélanie looked surprised, but took the gift from the child's palm.

"When did he bring this?"

Élodie rocked back and forth, pondering. Finally, she resolved to hold her chin high and be truthful. "He gave it to me to give to you the night my father announced the engagement." Mélanie's eyes darkened curiously, as if she were to ask why exactly Élodie had waited for so long, but she remembered her place and status and remained silent for a few moments.

Finally, she spoke. "I suppose you've had so much to deal with lately… your mother's passing, your father's engagement – it's quite a bit much for any child. I understand why you waited." Élodie was sorely tempted to admit that the real reason was that she was simply quite disgruntled that Clopin had given Mélanie a ribbon at all, but she kept her mouth tightly shut.

Mélanie laced the ribbon through her hair, and Élodie had to admit she looked quite lovely with it in. She sighed heavily. She was beginning to feel dizzy again. It was just… too much to handle, all at once. She longed for life to be normal, for her mother to be here, to hold and cradle her. Now, at this moment, everything was all wrong and completely unfair.

"Élodie?" Mélanie's concerned voice sounded distant in her ears, and she forced herself to blink in an effort to refocus her eyes. Mélanie's hand was light upon her shoulder. "Everything will be all right, Élodie." The older girl smiled comfortingly, eyes wide and bright and kind, and Élodie nodded, reaching out to grasp Mélanie's hand. Hands clasped together, Mélanie led Élodie out the door.

* * *

­­­­­­­­­­­

If Élodie had been considered a "quiet" child before, it was nowhere near compared to the countenance she assumed now. She was completely withdrawn from everyone; what little time she spent with her new "family" was spent in complete silence on her part. Her gray eyes seemed to have dulled even more than she would have thought possible – in their place, two wide, lifeless orbs seemed to bore into the hard surface of the table, or the floor, or whatever inanimate object she could fathom.

She'd not adjusted well to this new life.

The wedding had been lavish and beautiful, oh yes, and no one expected anything less. Even Élodie had to admit she was impressed with the rich proceedings, the finery and the white lace. She sat had through the ceremony in a stunned silence, admiring the aesthetics of the Cathedral under the soft, matrimonial glow. And she had sat in a sort of _shocked_ silence when it had finally happened, when her father had actually married this woman, this new mother, and the feelings of dizziness came rushing back to her, and she forced her eyes shut tightly to keep herself from falling into a faint. Her head had still swum when she made her way outside, only to find herself being assaulted by plumage of purple and yellow. And Clopin's dumbfounded expression only served to augment her nausea.

She had not spoken to him. Instead, she had followed obediently into the carriage as the wedding procession started off joyfully in the square. And she did not look back.

Nothing could ever be like it was before.

And she was complacent in letting things change. It was an adjustment unlike any she had ever experienced; she felt as if everything was overrun with _Charbonneau_. Élodie often escaped to her room, and if an unwanted Opaline or Dorianne happened to infiltrate that safeguard, she would board herself up into the nursery with little Emeline, who was possibly just as confused about everything as Élodie herself was. She even saw Daniel less and less… he had forsaken time spent with her to be with Dorianne, and though Daniel insisted to her that he disliked the Charbonneaus just as much as she, Élodie knew he nonetheless sought their approval avidly.

Mélanie, at least, did her best to soothe Élodie's discontent. She often took the now-mute child out for walks in the garden, and even tempted Élodie with the thought of going out to the square, or to see the Cathedral. But just as the Cathedral had been an artifact to remember mother by, the stain of her father and his new wife now tainted its beauty. Élodie could not bring herself to go back. Nor did she feel a burning desire to visit Clopin or Cyrano, though she could not explain her newfound apathy.

It didn't deter Mélanie from finally deciding to drag her along, anyway. One particular bright, crisp autumn day put the older girl in good enough spirits to whisk away the taciturn Élodie down to the square in front of Notre Dame. It was bustling and hurried as usual, and with a pang Élodie realized how much she truly missed coming here, to the smiling merchants and busy folk, to the colors and sounds and the sights. She felt a sudden tugging on her arm, and felt herself being forcibly pulled down the street to where a cluster of laughing children had gathered. She knew where Mélanie was taking her.

Mélanie squeezed her way to the front of the crowd, hand still tightly clutching Élodie's, and when she broke through waved animatedly towards Clopin and Cyrano. Cyrano awarded the two of them with a warm smile, and when Clopin had seen the new girls gathered about, his face positively went alight. Élodie watched them maneuver their puppets with fascination, smiling a little. Oh, how she had indeed missed this. The gypsies finished their show to resounding peals of laughter from their young audience, and then quickly cleaned up to make their way over to Mélanie and Élodie.

"Well, it has been a long time!" Cyrano laughed as he engulfed Élodie in a hug. She responded warmly, laughing a little herself; inwardly, she realized it had been a long time since she had laughed. When she withdrew, she turned to Clopin. He was looking at her intensely, with an almost somber expression.

Crouching so that he was more at Élodie's eye-level, he asked quietly, "Why didn't you tell me?" She realized that he could only be referring to the Charbonneaus, and she made to speak, but the words were thick and dry in her mouth, and instead she shrugged nonchalantly. He frowned and opened his mouth to no doubt query her more, but a sharp look from Cyrano cut him short. He then forced his mouth into a smile, flashing is near dazzling white teeth. "Well, never mind then! I believe we have more pressing matters." Élodie looked at him quizzically, but in a flash, Clopin whipped out Puppet, who smothered her in kisses and cried about how he had missed her. She could not prevent the shriek of laughter that escaped her lips.

"That's more like it!" Mélanie exclaimed, watching the exchange. "It's so nice to see you smiling again, Élodie."

"You've not been smiling, _Mademoiselle_!?" Puppet shrilled.

"We shall have to remedy that," Clopin said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

* * *

When Mélanie and Élodie finally began to head home, dusk was rapidly approaching. "That was fun,_ non_ Élodie?" The younger girl smiled widely, for though she had been laughing all day, she'd still mostly retained her mute state. "Would you like to come back more often?" Mélanie asked her.

Élodie nodded furiously.

So they came back often, to watch the puppet show, day after day. To Élodie, the square was a breath of fresh air, both literally and figuratively – it was an escape from the stuffy, choking stench of the Charbonneaus and her father. She was relieved to admit that for the first time in a long time – since her mother's death, actually – Élodie was _happy_.

This change in attitude did not go unnoticed by the rest of the household. Though she still spoke minimally, her face and eyes seemed brighter than they had in weeks, and this left the rest of her family puzzling over the sudden transformation.

Opaline was keenly interested.

So interested, in fact, that she made it her personal responsibility to discover exactly the catalyst that spurred Élodie's newfound happiness. It seemed that wherever Élodie went, Opaline was determined to follow her. Mélanie and Élodie soon had to slyly sneak out off the grounds in order to make their regular visits to the square, without Opaline's knowledge of them leaving. This solution worked only briefly; for, at discovering their secrecy, Opaline had coyly suggested to her mother that she was being excluded. Mélanie was promptly forced to always take the youngest Charbonneau with her to the square, much to Élodie's dismay.

But to Élodie, going to see Clopin with Opaline far outweighed not seeing Clopin at all, and the same seemed to hold true for Mélanie. Therefore, the two girls braved the terrorizing of Opaline Charbonneau. The walk to the square was twice as long as normal with their new companion, who stopped every five minutes to complain of the aches in her feet. Resentfully, Élodie and Mélanie waited before Mademoiselle Charbonneau deemed herself prepared to continue their trek again. So grateful were they to finally reach the plaza that Élodie could not contain herself, and broke out into skipping to the caravan, despite Mélanie's protest of "Wait!"

Clopin smiled widely as she approached. She curtsied, laughing as Puppet emerged to peck her cheek. Behind her, she heard Mélanie and Opaline fast approaching, panting slightly at the exertion to reach her. Turning, she was utterly confused at their expressions. Opaline had a look of pure disdain, nose haughtily stuck in the air as if she had smelled something foul. Mélanie, on the other hand, and a look of pure worry and shock, and she carefully avoided Clopin's eyes. Élodie did not understand, but before she could comment, Opaline's voice rang clear and derisively through the air.

"What are you doing with _him?_"

Élodie swiveled her head, to witness Clopin's reaction, but his face seemed incredibly steady.

"_Bonjour, mademoiselle_," he spoke evenly, bowing regally, though Élodie knew it to be a mocking sort of gesture. Opaline seemed to think so, too. She sneered at the display, and turned back to Élodie.

"Well? You haven't answered my question." Opaline's voice was demanding and impertinent, and suddenly Élodie's mouth felt very dry.

"He is my friend," she finally managed to utter, unnerved by the contemptuous glare painted upon the older girl's face. Before Opaline could comment further, Mélanie interjected.

"An acquaintance, really. We were just passing by, _excusez-moi Monsieur_," Mélanie grabbed Élodie's hand swiftly, bowing sheepishly to Clopin as if he were a stranger in passing. Without further warning, she dragged both girls away from the square hurriedly. A knot formed in Élodie's stomach; she now realized her folly, though she inwardly winced at the fact she hadn't realized it before. Opaline had seen her conversing with Clopin, and such an act was atrocious to Opaline, who would no doubt report the event to her mother and Élodie's father. Her stomach gave another jolt.

Mélanie did her best to try and amend the situation, offering to take the girls around to the silk merchants to look for hair ribbons, but at Opaline's exclamation that she wasn't feeling well and wanted to return home instantly, Mélanie and Élodie exchanged warning looks, and both paled.

Where the trip to the square had been unendingly slow, the trip home had been far too fast for Élodie's liking. Now determined, Opaline practically marched home, no doubt eager to gossip to her mother about the day's events.

Turning round the bend to their manse, Élodie caught sight of something that stopped her nearly dead in her tracks.

Frollo's carriage.

Her heart pounded in her head, loud and deafening, and she took large, heaving gulps of air to steady herself. What was he doing here? Her mind raced, thinking of possible reasons, but none came to fruition. Desperately she reached for Mélanie's hand. The older girl squeezed it lovingly, comfortingly.

Only with every ounce of her willpower did Élodie manage to convince herself to cross the threshold of the manse. There, she, along with Mélanie and Opaline encountered a rather flustered looking Madame Odette, who ushered them into the sitting parlor. There, the whole family was gathered, along with a stiff looking Frollo, and Élodie's stomach gave another nasty lurch. She greeted the party with a deep curtsy, feeling her face flush nervously.

Her father spoke first. "I trust you mademoiselles had a pleasant day in the square." They nodded. Élodie's eyes shifted to Opaline, but the older girl had thus far remained silent. "Lord Frollo here was simply joining us for supper tonight." So that was it, Élodie inwardly mused. She… she could survive supper. Perhaps Frollo's presence would have the same effect on Opaline as it did Élodie, and the Charbonneau would remain silent.

Élodie prayed.

It was going quite well, but she was still uneasy. Frollo and her father were making easy conversation, with Madame Charbonneau joining in occasionally. The children sat quietly and politely, and Élodie was immensely grateful that Opaline had not been presented with a chance to reveal her secret.

Her luck soon changed.

"Élodie?" She snapped to attention; her tablemates were looking at her warily. "Élodie, what is the matter with you, child?" Her father asked, only half concealing his irritation. She realized too late how deeply lost in thought she was; she had the consternation of all the Charbonneaus focused upon her.

"I am sorry, Father, I am very tired. What was…?"

"I asked you why you have not so much as touched your food," he interrupted her.

Her cheeks reddened slightly.

"I am sorry, Father, I am not very hungry." She forced herself to breath under his fierce gaze.

"Mademoiselle looks as if she has had a long and tiring day," the deep timbre of Claude Frollo carried easily across the dining table. She nodded, compliantly. "Where again, did you go off to today? Busying yourself in the square?" Her heart quickened rapidly, but glancing over at him she saw the Judge was simply making polite inquiries. She nodded again.

"_Oui, Monsieur_, I was in the square," she said as politely, yet evasively as she could.

"And what did you do while you were there?"

Her head was pounding in her ears, and she somehow managed to respond, "We mostly looked around at the shops, Monsieur."

"And said hello to your friend."

The voice made Élodie's blood stop cold. Opaline sat across from her, smug grin slowly creeping along her face. Élodie felt her own face go ashen and pale.

"What was that, dear?" Madame Charbonneau turned to look at her daughter, eyebrow arched perilously.

"Why, her friend, Mother. That _gypsy,_" Opaline added a casual emphasis on the last word, but it was enough. Heads snapped in Élodie's direction; Arlette's lips had pursed into a fine, white angry line, Dorianne and Opaline sat placidly, wicked little smirks plastering their faces, Daniel look deathly pale, and in a stark contrast, her father looked a rather dangerous shade of puce.

"What," he growled in a low, angry whisper, "have a I told you about associating with _them_?" Her face felt hot, the beginnings of tears boiling up into her cheeks and eyes, and she bit her lip to stop the trembling.

"How many times has this has happened before, Edmond?" Frollo's voice was surprisingly even, his countenance more of curiosity than anger. Her father flushed an even deeper red.

"I explicitly told her to never again-"

"Edmond, do you not see it?" Frollo's voice was a little more animated this time, and looking at him, Élodie saw a somewhat maniacal glint in his eyes. Edmond was perplexed.

"See what? That my daughter is a disobedient little-"

"She's been bewitched."

Silence cut through the room, heavy and thick.

"What?" Élodie finally managed to recover her voice, and was apparently the first one to do so.

"_Oui_, what, Monsieur?" Edmond echoed his daughter's sentiments.

"Oh, is it not obvious, _mon ami_? The child shows an unusual attraction to gypsies – I suspected so well enough that day she ran forth to save the doll in the street. One of those caravan gypsies must have placed some sort of enchantment on her. I have been warning this city for how long now to beware of their witchcraft, and they have the audacity to curse your child in front of our very eyes!" Frollo was pulsating now, eyes glowing even brighter. "This is the last straw. Your daughter can be a perfect example for Paris! Everyone will finally be able to see why we need to flush out these ratted vermin!"

The revelation left her in a stunned silence, but Edmond banged his fist against the table, causing the dining ware to rattle shakily. "Yes, you are right, Claude!" Edmond exclaimed this almost gleefully. "We can finally do something official about this! Get rid of them once and for all!"

Élodie sat, petrified. Should she speak out, she would receive a severe punishment – if she remained silent, Frollo and her father would have all the grounds they needed to rid the city of the gypsies. She tried to catch Daniel's eye; he was adamantly avoiding contact. She glanced around the rest of the table. Little Emeline sat, quite confused as to the goings on, being far too young to fully comprehend. Madame Charbonneau was mirroring her husband's excitement, but Élodie noticed that Opaline had a sour expression – clearly, her plan of seeing Élodie be punished had gone extremely awry. Élodie forced herself to inhale deeply, but nausea overcame her senses and she felt herself toppling sideways, off of her chair and onto the floor. A pair of firm arms grabbed her and righted her, and she heard a worried shriek of "Élodie!" Madame Odette was pulling her up, gently but securely.

"You see, Edmond? It certainly explains many things – her recent behavior, this illness." Frollo's voice was uncomfortably ringing in her ears. She felt it diminishing, however, and it was few seconds before she realized that Madame Odette was leading her out of the room. From there, she was dragged to her room, helped into her nightgown by Madame Odette, and forced into bed. Odette left the room, and Élodie stared up at the blank wall above her. How had this happened?

And why?

She heard the door swing open, but her eyes remained fixated on the ceiling, assuming that if she had turned, she would have seen Madame Odette or Mélanie coming forth to issue to her a cool washcloth and water.

"What are you looking at?" A petulant voice asked from across the room. Élodie turned now – Opaline stood in the frame of the door, looking at her sourly. Élodie felt her blood boil.

"Haven't you caused enough trouble? Why can't you go away?" Élodie had never raised her voice in such a manner, and was equally surprised at the outburst as Opaline. The older girl smirked.

"My mother sent me to keep you company."

"I do not want your company," Élodie was unsure where this vicious attitude was coming from, but she found it exhilarating nonetheless. Opaline merely seemed amused.

"Well, we _are_ sisters now, _non_?"

"I don't want to be your sister."

"That's not very polite, Élodie."

"I don't care," she pushed the covers of her bed back violently, rising. Opaline ignored her, crossing the threshold of the room to reach from something on the floor. Élodie strained to see what it was, but Opaline spoke before she could inquire.

"_He _gave this to you, didn't he?" Opaline put forth her arm, and there clutched in her hand Élodie saw the little puppet Clopin had made for her. Élodie swallowed hard.

"Give that to me."

"As you wish," Opaline scowled, disgustedly. Élodie picked up the doll from its crumpled state off the floor, forcing herself to blink back enraged tears. Opaline's attention was once again drawn away from Élodie; she was greedily staring at the younger girl's bureau. Marching over, she picked up the pearl hair comb.

"Don't touch that!" Élodie gasped angrily.

"Now, now, we're sisters. My mother said that she and her sister always shared." Opaline had a positively nefarious glint in her eyes. Taking the comb, she gingerly threaded it through her hair. "You know, I quite like this. I think I'll borrow it for a while."

"No!" Élodie had lunged toward the other girl, reaching for the white-blond hair, but a voice rang out, stopping her dead in her tracks.

"Now, what's going on here?" Arlette Charbonneau (Élodie refused to call her Delacroix) stood, arms folded and eyebrows arched haughtily.

"Look Mother, at this hair comb. Isn't lovely?"

"It's mine!" Élodie exclaimed.

Arlette stared at her daughter for a few minutes before turning her attention to Élodie. "My sister and I always shared when we were little girls. I'm sure you can do the same," a slight yet insidious smile creeping across her face. Élodie fought to not let the tears flow.

"But my mother gave it to me, before she died. I do not want to share it," she felt the tremble in her voice.

"It's only proper that you share," Arlette looked at her distastefully. "Come along Opaline, let's allow little Élodie to get some rest."

The Charbonneaus left the room and Élodie. Her throat felt constricted, her mouth completely arid. Her face was feverishly warm, and cupping her hand to her cheek she realized that the tears she had been hoarding finally had spilled over, cascading furiously down her face. She needed to do something – it was not possible for her to stay any longer, to be the subject of such treatment at the hands of Arlette and Opaline.

She wanted her mother.

She bolted upright. She would go see her mother. Élodie bit her lip, glancing after the now-closed door. She would never be able to sneak out.

…But hadn't Clopin been able to sneak _in_?

She swiveled to the window. The sun had already set, and it seemed terribly dark. Nonetheless she raced over, undid the latch and peered down. Only two flights down, and Élodie some vines that had encroached upon the manor – Clopin must have climbed those to get up. She could climb down… Élodie swallowed hard. She'd not been one for climbing trees like other children she had seen – her father had expressly forbidden it. But, still, if it meant she could get to the cemetery…

She ran to grab her shoes and coat – she would not make the same mistake she had made the night of the fire. Getting to the graveyard would be quite a walk, and she had to be prepared. As an afterthought, she grabbed her puppet and stuffed it inside her coat pocket – at least she would not be alone. She steeled herself, and determined began climbing out the window. Her hands gripped tightly against the vines, and slowly, she worked her way down, going slowly. She felt one vine wrench apart from the rest, and gasping, clenched to the rest even tighter. She was almost there… just a little more to go…

Her feet thudded softly against the cool grass, and she let out a relieved sigh. Quickly, she turned and began sprinting away from the house – if she were to be caught now… she forced herself to not think about it.

She began making her way to the cemetery.

* * *

The trip was much longer and more daunting when taken by herself, no less at night. She had pulled Clopin's doll out of her pocket and clutched it to her chest, her heart pounding. She had finally made it. And she was terrified.

At night, the graveyard looked much more run down and frightening than it had during the day. Swallowing hard, she began looking at the tombstones, forcing herself to not think about ghost stories or wandering spirits and instead concentrate on finding her mother's headstone. At last, she had found it: _Dianne Delacroix, beloved mother and wife._ She blinked back tears, and kneeled reverently in front of the tombstone. Now that she was here, she was completely unsure of just _why_ she had come in the first place. Her fingers threaded through the grass, hand pressing firmly against the cold earth, and she faintly realized that her mother was _down there_, buried underneath the earth. Élodie's stomach prickled uncomfortably.

There was a crashing noise, and voices approaching. Startled senseless, Élodie quickly dived behind her mother's headstone, doing her best to conceal herself behind the marble slab.

The voices grew nearer. "Gilles, stop being a fool. Be sure to take more care, lest we be spotted!" A young man's voice whispered from a short distance away.

"Oh come now, Tristan, who is out and about at this time of night?" A second voice responded, much louder and certainly more carefree.

"Cyrano told us to always be wary, no matter what time of night." Élodie gave a jolt. Cyrano? Curiosity got the best of her, and she carefully peered around the headstone. A mere few feet away, two young men stood, looking to be around Clopin's age. They were moving a large slab of stone off of a grave, and she could not even imagine what in Paris they were doing. She scooted closer for a better look at their faces, but could only make out one; the man was holding a torch slightly above his head, his face illuminated by the firelight. She recognized him – she had seen him the night of the riot. He had been with Clopin.

"Gilles," the man with the torch – Tristan – looked at the other sternly, "really, be more care-"

He stopped cold, eyes fixed on Élodie. Her eyes widened in realization that she had been spotted, but it was too late. In a flash, Tristan had lunged for her and grabbed hold. She gasped as his arm clamped around hers, and she heard Gilles' loud exclamation at her sudden appearance. "Wh-who's that!?"

Tristan looked at her closely. "Clopin knows you," he said, softly, and nervously, she nodded affirmatively. His grip on her loosened, but his arm stayed. Tristan turned expectantly to Gilles. "What did I say about being more careful, hm? Now we've a little spy on our hands."

"Please, Monsieur, I was not spying," she tried her best to explain. "I was just visiting the cemetery. The graves – my mother…"

"A bit late to be out, especially for one so young," Gilles spoke, and Élodie did not like the tone of his voice. "What do we do?"

Tristan contemplated. "She's only a child…"

"Look at what's going on!" Gilles voice definitely rang with a note of panic now. "She's seen the entrance! What if she tells?"

"She won't," Tristan cut him off, harshly. Élodie had not an idea what was going on. Tell what? Entrance? She glanced around Tristan. The slab of rock they had moved… there must have been something, some _place_ down there. Gilles noticed her prying. Lunging after her, he grabbed her other arm and pulled her out of Tristan's grasp.

"No, Gilles, you don't have-"

"We need to protect ourselves, that's what Cyrano always says! She has to come, she's seen too much!" Suddenly, she felt herself being dragged, then lifted off her feet. Shrieking, Élodie realized that Gilles was carrying her down a set of stairs _into the tomb_. She tried to scream more, but a fierce hand clamped against her mouth, and terrified, she was dragged down into the darkness.

**AN: Wow. Finally, we're getting to the story. Again, sorry it's taken so long – I've had SOOO MUCH TO DO! But, things are better. I hope you like this chapter – I had fun writing it! Remember, please leave some con-crit and love, and it will be greatly appreciated!**

**PS: Was listening to Patrick Wilson's "The Great Escape" during the writing of this. Just in case you were wondering. Probably weren't, but I don't care. :p **


	8. Part I, Chapter 8

**AN: SORRY! SORRY! I meant to update this – yay for writer's block!**

**Also, this chappie was supposed to be, like, twice as long. But, since you've all been so patient, I'm gonna just upload what I have now, because I like where it ends anyway. :p That means this chappie is shorter than usual, but I'm sure you'll live! I promise you, I shall not forget about this story – though, I have to say, funny things happen when you let things sit. I reworked my outline, and now I think it is much better, if not much more mature than I was originally intending.**

**This chapter has a few swear words, but nothing too bad. Again, thanks for your patience:-D**

**Chapter Eight**

Her heart was pounding in her throat. Élodie lashed about as violently as she could, but the gypsy's grip was too strong, and his fingers dug painfully into her skin as she attempted to flee from him. From behind, a soft glow of light emanated from the flaming torch Tristan clutched in his hand.

"Gilles, you've got to stop this, we have to turn back, this is _kidnapping_…"

And to her dismay, Gilles replied (in a panicked shrill), "No, it's the rule, she's seen the entrance! Besides, it's too late now, if we let her go, she'll no doubt go run to the guards… damn it!" Élodie had fiercely thrashed at him, managing to catch his arm, and she scratched mercilessly. His grip on her tightened, his hand still firmly clamped against her mouth and muffled screams. They continued their descent, and Élodie finally heard the sound of light splashing. Where in France were they taking her? Gilles continued forward, frantically, sifting through what smelled to Élodie like a dank sewer. She was growing weary of thrashing her limbs, but continued to pry away at Gilles clenched fingers. A booming voice rang out through the underground, and then the sounds of splashing all about made her freeze, as well as her kidnappers.

"What's this?" The voice was like thunder, loud and forcefully, with a deep, booming timbre that shook her to the core. Gilles was quick to stammer an explanation.

"We found her. Out in the graveyard, s-she was just poking around, she saw us pull away t-the tombstone," she could feel his grip tighten on her, unconsciously, due to his nervousness. She gave a muffled cry of pain. Her eyes were slowing beginning to adjust to the new sources of light – she was surrounded by at least ten gypsies, all looking menacing with swords and knives, wielding lighted torches and insidious smiles. The booming voice came again, and she swiveled her head as best she could to see a beast of a man, large and looming, with broad shoulders and strong looking arms. He had a very strong set jaw, a thick black beard, and a sinister gash running from the right side of his face, just next to his eye down his wide cheek.

She was terrified.

"Who is she?" The beast-man spoke, voice low and powerful. Gilles remained silent, but Tristan finally managed to find his voice.

"We need to see Cyrano." His voice sounded so small in comparison to the leader of this band of threatening gypsies, but he stood tall and met the man's gaze squarely.

"Who is she?" The man repeated, his tone growing even more intimidating, but Tristan did not shrink.

"Now, Pitivo, please,_ we must see Cyrano_."

"What's going on here?" Another voice rang out through the underground, and Élodie could not feel more relieved when she realized whom it belonged to. Cyrano, with his son by his side, stood, arms crossed, surveying the scene with a mixture of disdain and curiosity playing on his face. Clopin's expression mimicked that of his father's, and breathlessly, Élodie managed to pull Gilles' hand from her mouth and called out to him.

"Clopin!" Her voice was shrieking and panicked, and desperately she tried to run towards him. The hand enclosed around her arm, however, tightened its grip and she winced aloud from the pain.

"Élodie?" Cyrano questioned incredulously, while Clopin stepped forward, face positively menacing.

"_Unhand her_."

There was some dark force, some inexplicably sinister tone that impregnated his voice, and everyone in the vicinity gave a start. Swiveling her head, she could see Gilles' jaw dropped in shock, and Tristan looked extremely pale. Then, the painful grip on her arm lessened, and her pain subsided. Hurriedly, she backed away from the two young gypsy boys and threw herself into Clopin's welcoming arms. He lifted her gently, holding her close to his chest, while staring menacingly at the culprits.

He made to speak, but Cyrano beat him to it. "Explain yourselves."

Gilles wasted no time, beginning to explain that they had found Élodie in the graveyard. "She was spying on us or something," and before she could protest, another voice rang out.

"She saw the entrance," Tristan spoke for the first time, his voice low and feeble. All eyes turned and stared, "Of the Court… we…we were careless, and she saw it." He turned to look squarely, not at Cyrano, but at Clopin. "I'm sorry, but we were just obeying the rules. We couldn't leave her."

Cyrano's face hardened but the beast-man spoke again. "What exactly was the li'l mademoiselle doing in the graveyard, so late at night..." he sing-songed menacingly.

Élodie did not look at him to respond, but rather Clopin. "I was visiting my mother's grave." He gave her a sad look, and she felt his grip on her tighten somewhat comfortingly.

"However precious the sentiment is, it doesn't change the fact that she's trespassed on our sacred grounds!" The beast-man, Pitivo, snarled. "Cyrano, you know what must be done."

Both Clopin and Élodie turned to Cyrano. He stared at Pitivo hard, mouth forming a small frown, but said nothing.

"She's just a child." It was Clopin who broke the silence, addressing both his father and the burly man.

"Child or no, the law of the Court states that all trespassers meet the gallows!" Pitivo sneered. Élodie felt the blood rush from her head.

"We've never had an instance such as this in the past," Cyrano murmured, thoughtfully. Pitivo swirled to face him angrily.

"We've hung younger than her before."

"Yes," another voice came from behind them all. Élodie turned to see another gypsy man, this one nowhere near as frightening-looking as Pitivo. His sleek black hair was relatively short and streaked liberally with gray, but his eyes were a warm russet hue. "But these circumstances are far different." Though his voice seemed soft, there was a sort of quiet strength that comforted Élodie immediately.

"Oh, pray tell how so, Cato?" Pitivo asked with disdain. The man Cato gave no indication of feeling threatened by the much larger gypsy; rather, he gave a small, sardonic smile before continuing.

"Well, I shall gladly tell you, Pitivo," he answered kindly, and Élodie saw that Pitivo grimaced at Cato's unaffected countenance. "In cases past, always the intruders have been guards, Frollo's soldiers hell-bent on revealing our whereabouts. Pitivo, look at this child." He motioned towards Élodie with his hand. "She means us no harm. She threatens us in no way. Death is unnecessary." Élodie felt a surge of gratitude for the older gypsy, who gave her the slightest of smiles, kind and warm.

"We cannot let her go!" Pivito's lip curled unpleasantly towards Cato. "We risk her revealing our location!"

"I won't tell anyone!" Élodie's interjection startled everyone, who had apparently forgotten that she still remained securely in Clopin's arms. Beside her, Cyrano gave a small, sympathetic smile.

"Élodie…" he started gently, not quite meeting her eyes. "Élodie, surely your family understands your attitude towards our people is…different from theirs." His words were light, careful. "As leader, I-"

"He cannot afford to risk anything!" Pivito snarled, harshly. A cold look from Cyrano stilled the larger man's tongue, and Clopin began to speak.

"Your father is a prominent figure in the town, and too close to Frollo." The words sounded strained, completely unlike the normal Clopin she knew. Gone from his eyes was the usual jesting glint, and all traces of warmth in his voice vanished. "To let you return to them, burdened with such a secret – well, it is out of the question."

There was an icy chill that slithered down her spine, settling like a rock in the pit of her stomach. "…So I am to die." Her voice was choked, and there was a faint tang of salt upon her lips. She belatedly realized that tears sprung freely from her, sidling down her cheeks furiously. Clopin did not look at her, but his grasp around her lithe body tightened.

"There is another way." The meek speech of Tristan forced Élodie to hiccup slightly in surprise. All the men turned to the boy, expectantly. In that moment, the young gypsy looked very afraid and out of place. And then, he looked at Clopin intently, and with a fierce expression of determination and something else Élodie could not quite understand, offered, "She could stay."

The simple words resonated in the darkened sewer, and Clopin raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. Cyrano rubbed his chin with careful consideration. "The idea has merit," he conceded.

Pitivo scoffed. "She, stay here!? She is not one of us! She is noble-born, she would never fit in-"

"It is a happy alternative to the noose." Cato piped, graciously. The invisible weight that was pressing upon Élodie's chest lightened; her head cleared, though she was still hiccupping considerably.

"And where will she stay?" Another gypsy whose name she did not know chimed in. Pitivo glanced keenly at Cyrano.

"Cyrano, if I may, she is more than welcome to stay with me." Cato spoke up, almost defiantly staring at Pitivo and the other wary gypsies. "I'm sure Mirela would not mind… and we are certainly prepared to take her." There was a sort of sadness in his tone, but Élodie only half noticed – this man was going to take her in.

And then the realization of everything that was happening dawned, and she took pause. She would _have_ to stay. As if reading her thoughts, Clopin gently prodded, "Élodie, would you like to stay here, among the gypsies?" She deliberated. A life as a gypsy – she would be free from her father, from the Charbonneaus, from Frollo, from…Daniel? Mélanie? Emeline? But she knew – she had no choice.

She looked at him, cheeks still tear-stained, and nodded.

**AN: Yes, I'm cutting off here – there is just too much to fit in that wouldn't go with the rest of this chapter. So, you can expect a new chapter up sometime in the NEAR future… the yayz! And before ANYONE reviews and claims I've "jumped the shark" or created such a cliche and whatnot, I ask that you please first consider that I actually tried to logically set it up that she could live with the gypsies, and ask for you to wait it out...I can guarantee this story will have MANY twists to surprise you with! **


	9. Part I, Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: all characters of The Hunchback of Notre Dame belong to Victor Hugo and Disney. I do, however, own the OCs and the writing of this story.**

**SO SORRY! You are all the greatest friends anyone could ask for, being SO patient with me! This was the hardest chapter thus far to write – it ends a particular part of this story, and must serve as a bridge into the next 'part' so to speak, so there is a lot in here, but I had to be crafty and not overload all of you! Thank you for the kind reviews and fav's – you are spectacular! I love you all very much! **

**ONWARD!**

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****Chapter 9**

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**She hadn't expected it to be so…colorful. The catacombs had been so dreary, damp, and cold, that to see the brilliantly bold tents and caravans that lay hidden deep within what was known to the gypsies as the "Court of Miracles" was refreshing and…well, astounding. Élodie could not suppress a gasp of delight. Holding her yet, Clopin smiled before gently putting her down in front of a particularly large tent. Her cheeks were still humid from her previous tears, and swiftly he withdrew Puppet, who playfully wiped her face. She gave him a subdued smile. Cato approached her, bending at the knee and offering kindly, "I know this is a bit sudden. But you need not be afraid."

And when she answered, "I am not," it was the truth. She actually felt an immense relief wash over her; she was without her family, but most of her family turned on her. This man, Cato…he seemed kind. His eyes shone with a softness that calmed her, and when he extended his hand, she gratefully accepted it, relishing in its warmth.

Her own father never held her hand.

"Well, my wife Mirela is waiting at home," he pointed just a few meters away to a small, yellow tent, before continuing, "Shall we?"

She had nearly said yes when a realization struck her, clenching in her gut, and making her gasp aloud.

"There is something I have to do, first," she looked up at him, before squirming out of his grip and quickly turning to Clopin and Cyrano; the latter was still flanked by a highly agitated Pitivo, the former, Tristan. "It is about Frollo."

The declaration caught the attention of the men, who fell silent, until Cyrano encouraged Élodie to speak. She told them all she knew, of Frollo and her father's plans to deal with the gypsies, speaking animatedly. As she finished, the men stood in stunned silence, none daring to speak; Cyrano was contemplative, Pitivo eyes were wide with surprise, Tristan looked fearful, but Clopin regarded her with an expression of interest and, dare she assume, pride.

"It seems some good comes of this entire ordeal after all," Cyrano finally spoke, the words tumbling out of his mouth slowly. "Well, this certainly means we need to be prepared to make…adjustments."

"What do you mean?" The harshness was gone from Pitivo's voice, though it still reminded Élodie of a growling beast, it was less malicious than before.

"Send word out – no one is to enter the streets." Cyrano's brow furrowed. "We must lie low for a while; Frollo is a busy man, you give him time, and he will have other priorities move up the queue."

"How are we to earn our keep, Cyrano?" Tristan asked this time, apprehension tingeing his query.

"We will send a few men every day, disguised. I will not risk sending any more; they can get us provisions."

"So, we're to be stuck down here," Clopin muttered bitterly. Cyrano sighed.

"Yes. For now."

Clopin crossed his arms, clearly unhappy with the news, his lips drawing into a taut line. Élodie stared at him, marveling at the sight of him actually being _displeased_; she was shaken from such thoughts by a warm hand on her shoulder; Cato was there, by her side. She had nearly forgotten about the older man's presence, so quiet he was.

"You look weary, child," his voice had a magical quality to it, like the sound of music thrumming in the breeze. "You should rest." And though part of her was keenly interested in staying to hear the rest of the conversation, her body protested, her limbs feeling heavier with each passing minute, and she nodded in agreement.

Cato led her to the tent, stopping just short of the entrance before turning to her and saying, "Wait here, a moment, _s'il vous plait_," and he lifted the flap to the tent and entered. She stood there, legs feeling leaden and aching, but doing her best to remain patient. A few moments later, Cato and his wife stepped outside; she was a beautiful, buxom woman, with fleshy curves and a bright, cherry red smile. Her eyes, lighter in color than her husband's, regarded little Élodie with curiosity, but nonetheless, her face was kind.

Élodie was reminded of her own mother, a pang of sadness stabbing her heart.

"Ah, hello, child." The woman's voice was kind, too. "I am Mirela. You've met my husband already. I've heard that you've – you've had quite a night." Her voice was deep and husky, with a heavy accent that Élodie could not place, but like her husband's, it was musical in sound. Élodie nodded at her words, shyly looking down at her feet; a part of her felt guilty, to impose upon the couple in such a manner; she felt strangely disjointed, realizing that these people, this place, was her new life and home. Everything she had known for the past eight years had been rent asunder – she was starting afresh, right _now_.

Mirela's clear voice rang across her thoughts, dispensing of them and snapping Élodie back to reality. "Come along, now. Cato has explained everything, and you look so weary; come, and rest."

She led the small girl into the tent, and Élodie was surprised at how big it actually was; the outside was so deceptive in its appearance. It was adorned with ordinary household items: a table, some chairs, and two beds, one larger, and one looking as if it were simply meant for a child. Without wasting so much as a minute, Mirela led her over to the smaller of the two beds, and went to a makeshift bureau standing next to it; she pulled out a small dress, a simple white nightgown from what Élodie could gather. "Here," she handed it to Élodie, "this should fit."

Cato busied himself outside while Élodie undressed herself, with Mirela's help. The nightgown did fit; indeed, it felt to Élodie as if it was made for a girl of her size. "There," Mirela gave a satisfied smile, though Élodie swore it was colored with something else, some other emotion that she couldn't quite pin her finger on.

Mirela tucked her into the bed, and before drifting off to sleep, she heard Mirela whisper, "I know this is much to take in, and it's happening so fast; but patience, for things will get better, soon." The sound soothed Élodie, and she allowed herself to slip into a fitful respite.

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Things did not get better quite so fast as Élodie would have hoped. She realized, quickly, that she knew nothing of gypsy life. It was so…intricate. Laborious. Difficult. Mirela and Cato bore her struggles with infinite patience, teaching her their ways of life, introducing her to chores and hard work. Élodie had never had to cook her own meals, nor wash her own clothes (which were far more simple than that of what she used to wear…it was something she was _quite_ grateful for). Each night, she stared at her hands, raw and blistered from being unfamiliar to such labor, and the most fleeting notions of regret would wash over her; she forced herself to suppress them. She refused to allow herself to be anything less than thankful for Cato and Mirela's kindness and patience.

It was, after all, far better than the alternative. She was living with a…well, family. A group of individuals who genuinely cared for her, who treated her kindly, lovingly, even.

…It was nice.

Cato and Mirela, she learned from Clopin shortly after her arrival, had previously borne a daughter, around Élodie's age. However, a tragic incident by the river left them bereft of their sweet Reine. They did not conceive another child after that, but they also never relinquished Reine's possessions, somehow seemingly knowing that someday, they would make use for them again. Élodie fit into the girl's clothes as if they were made for her, and every day she overheard Mirela blessing God above for giving her 'a second chance at life'.

Élodie grew to appreciate second chances. Second lives.

Three months had passed; she'd heard very little of the outside world, having been explicitly banned from leaving the Court.

"You cannot risk it," Cyrano explained to her, pulling her aside in his caravan her second night living there, and as gently as he could. "They are likely looking all over for you…your family, that is." Élodie raised an inquisitive eyebrow, clearly doubting the sentiment. "Whether you believe it or not. Your father and Frollo – they _need_ you. You are a key part of their plan."

"Not that it matters now," the bitter voice of Clopin interjected, entering through the fabric playing 'door' to the caravan's 'house'. "Word on the street is that they've tried pinning the kidnapping on us, the gypsies!"

"But, Clopin," Tristan followed behind his friend, "we _did_ kidnap her," he ruefully, though softly pointed out.

Clopin ignored him.

"Regardless," Cyrano's deep voice rumbled, interjecting, "I've said it before: I've lived in Paris with Judge Frollo long enough to know how he works. When enough time has passed, he will allow the issue to be dropped. It will be soon enough that we shall have our caravan out on the streets once again. At least by the time of the Festival of Fools." Cyrano explained to Élodie, "It is French tradition, and he does not like altering such history. You'll see, _mon cher_, we shall be fine." His face became stern. "But no playing outside for you until that happens, understand?"

Having no alternative, she acquiesced.

And thus began her stay with the gypsies. Far more difficult than she had anticipated, she was slowly becoming accustomed to their life. She was eternally grateful to have Clopin by her side; perhaps it was guilt that drove him, or maybe merely boredom, but he took special time to interact with her, making sure she had healthy doses of Puppet and stories. Élodie also grew closer with Tristan, whom she knew for a fact only chose to associate himself with her as penance for his crime of stealing her away from Paris and down into the tombs below the earth. Nevertheless, as time passed, he grew to appreciate her company, and she, his, out of something more than simply self-reproach.

Still, she couldn't help but feel their three-way friendship was…strained. There was always a third-wheel, and so much of the relationship was borne from guilt, that it was hard for the three to fully appreciate the companionship; Clopin took nothing seriously, living his own whims and fancies, Tristan was meek and often went along with whatever Clopin said, and Élodie was still adjusting to gypsy life. Never mind the fact that Élodie _was_ much younger than the two boys, and their relationship was that of best friends. Indeed, Tristan's regard for Clopin was so high, that even when he was alone with Élodie, he spoke of the other constantly. Not that Élodie minded…Clopin was magnetic, drawing the regard of _everyone_ in the gypsy community. His popularity stemmed from his quick wit, charming personality, and sense of humor.

"He'll make a good leader, someday," Tristan commented to her, as they washed the linens together in the underground riverbank that ran through the Court. Élodie had to agree.

…But sometimes, only sometimes, she felt a sort of…disconcertment with regards to Clopin. Living with him now, she saw that though he had a genial nature, he also had something of a…well she didn't quite know what to call it. He was made of light, bright flashes of pearly teeth, flamboyant colors, bursts of song, but sometimes, she could see, there was a darkness there, one that permeated his eyes and inflicted his tongue. She had seen him be…not quite cruel, but less than kind on a few rare occasions. Whenever she made to speak with Tristan on this issue, he abruptly changed the topic, saying that Clopin was only human, that everyone had a dark side.

She let it go but did not forget it.

Nor did she forget her family. She missed Daniel terribly, and even Emeline too. They were her siblings, and she often thought on them, wondering how living with the dreadful Charbonneau's was. She longed to see them. She even missed Mélanie, a girl who she once envied – she had nonetheless been something of a kind older sister (far unlike her actual older step-sister, Opaline). Once, she had broached the topic with Clopin, hinting that it would be nice, if only for a moment, to visit them. But then, the darkness crept into his eyes, and he all but snarled at her that she could _never_, under _any_ circumstance, risk seeing them for fear of grave consequences.

She left it at that.

So she did her best to move on, live the life of a gypsy. It was difficult; many of the other gypsy children did not take to her, with her pale skin and light eyes. Indeed, most days her only company was her adoptive parents or Clopin and Tristan, sometimes Cyrano. All other parties kept to themselves; not maliciously, but just distrusting. Not that she could blame them – after the kinds of prejudice her father, Frollo had exhibited, she thought she understood…but still, she felt despaired. She wasn't her father. She certainly wasn't Frollo. She just wanted a _chance_.

"Give it time," Cato counseled her. "People…people are adverse to change. They don't like those who are different…and we Gypsies harbor the same prejudices as everyone else." She always loved when Cato spoke. He exuded a sort of wisdom, and his voice was low and soft, like a flute, with a full, rich, focused tone. Often did he lull her to sleep, not necessarily by reciting fairytales, but by telling her _stories_ – telling her about life, teaching her about things she didn't understand, being a guide. He…was like a father.

Cato's soft assurances that she would adjust, adapt to this new life invigorated her day to day, sowed in her a sense of belonging, a grain of patience and faith. Already, this feeling of confidence took fruit. It was in the little things that she saw the truth of her adoptive father's words. A month after her arrival, she had once again run into Pitivo. She quickly learned that the man, though very frightening looking due to his sheer size and growly voice, had a good heart. Distrustful of her at first, the rock of a man slowly grew to tolerate, even enjoy her conversations with him as she ambled about the Court day to day.

It renewed in her a sense of hope.

"And you were worried that he was going to kill you." Puppet was joking, one day. "He is a big softy, on the inside," he pointed out, as she relaxed with Clopin after a hard day of learning to stitch fabric to make new dresses. She did not say anything, but responded with a soft smile instead. Clopin grew silent, lost in thought for a few moments.

"Élodie," he said, abruptly. She turned to look at him, wondering. "…Do you…do you _like_ it here?" he asked her casually.

And she responded just as simply: "Very much."

His smile was a flash that shone brighter than the stars. "So good to hear! Because you're stuck with us, either way," he winked, and she laughed.

"But it is not such a bad thing, _non_?"

"_Non_," she responded, lips quirked upward. "Living here. Among the gypsies…" she trailed off, smile growing:

"It's not so bad at all."

**END PART I**

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**Yes, you read that right…Part ONE. There are at least two more. It's a very long tale. I've written much of it, but have much to edit and prune out before I can upload anymore…it constantly changes, but that's for the best, I think. Anyway, review and please give concrit! I love it! This chapter was so difficult…a lot of tricksy foreshadowing and setting up future plot lines, so I'm so glad you all stuck with me. I love you! ^_^**


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